


violent delights

by johnil



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Coming of Age, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Cults, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Family Issues, Homophobia, I'm Bad At Tagging, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Rebellion, Religion, Religious Cults, Religious Guilt, So Much Is Happening, Taeyong is a saint, Teenage Rebellion, Underage Drinking, johnny's kind of a dick sorry, kind of, lots of religion hoo boy, not really slice of life but i'm projecting on this one guys, takuya shows up eventually just give it time, ten also needs a hug, there's another relationship in the beginning but i swear it only lasts for like the first chapter, you'll see - Freeform, yuta needs a hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-03-07 16:31:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 32,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18876940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnil/pseuds/johnil
Summary: Yuta's mistakes are disastrous and regretful. Ten is not one of them.





	1. just a little rush, babe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello!!! thank u for clicking on this :> the relationship in the beginning of this only lasts one part so please dont be scared away by it heh
> 
> this /does/ get a bit violent/morbid in some parts of the story but i promise its ending is happy okay i can't deal with non-happy endings
> 
> the title for this story is from romeo and juliet, act 2: "these violent delights have violent ends." the title of this chapter comes from [sedated](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5_JUReD3QoE) by hozier!
> 
> and i made a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/uwbv3qw6td1xajeirdjc7az61/playlist/67MNYZDoXrjwcET3cMg4Zh?si=U1P9rtarQ9GCFaVn7gpDUg) for this!!! play it in order, it follows the plot. enjoy!

Yuta is too curious for his own good.

 

It’s always been like this—playing around and letting his wilder side get the best of him—but now there’s weight to the only game he’s ever known.

 

No one reprimanded him much when he ran his nails along the lining of the thin golden Bible that sat in his mother’s cabinet and split the delicate pages. No one said much at all when Yuta, who was only ten or eleven at the time, broke into Reverend Song’s office and combed through his files to find out why his brother didn’t sleep in his home anymore.

 

And no one reprimanded him when he dug the torn half of a photo from the trash can while his parents screamed vitriol at each other in the living room, but Yuta likes to think that one doesn’t count. That’s between him and God.

 

But then he gets bold. Things go south when that happens, when he asks Johnny—his _best friend—_ to kiss him, just to see how it feels. And it persists when Yuta begins to spend his evenings with Johnny pressed against the frame of his bedroom door as his parents lounge unknowingly below them on the first floor.

 

“We should stop this,” Johnny says once, his hand fisted in Yuta’s shirt and his lips red and swollen. “Won’t you get in trouble if someone finds out?”

 

“Nobody’s going to find out,” Yuta pants, and then he meets Johnny’s eyes and feels his edges soften a bit. “I promise,” he says, more quietly this time.

 

Johnny clearly doesn’t take the hint that he’s more vulnerable right now, because Yuta is flipped and lifted and suddenly his back presses against the cold wall and his legs lock around Johnny’s waist. They don’t talk about being caught any further. There’s a time and a place for that, and it is nowhere near here or now.

 

So yes, Yuta has a problem. But it’s manageable, and he’s able to sweep it under the rug for as long as he needs to, provided he doesn’t have any distractions.

 

That is, of course, until Ten comes along.

 

* * *

 

 

Yuta doesn’t think much of Ten when they first meet. He’s the cute new exchange student from Thailand who showed up to his first day of school with swatches of paint staining his school jacket. He’s Johnny’s new friend from class who didn’t have any other friends and was forced by Johnny to sit at their lunch table. He’s just cute. He’s not a threat. 

 

But then Johnny starts to include Ten in their plans. He’ll invite Ten out to the movies with them, take him to their diner, bring him along on their walks together.

 

Ten is a nice guy, and Yuta gets why Johnny likes him, _really,_ but there’s always a hint of jealousy that burns in the pit of his stomach whenever Ten is around, and he can’t figure out why until he looks closer.

 

* * *

 

It’s a Saturday morning—Yuta’s only free day of the week—and Johnny has stayed the night in Yuta’s bed after hours of kissing. They’re on their way to their usual date spot: a local diner that’s been open since Yuta’s parents were young. 

 

“Ten’s coming along,” Johnny says nonchalantly, parking his car in an unfamiliar driveway, and Yuta barely has time to think _‘whydoyouknowwhereheliveswhatelsedoyouknowabouthim’_ before Ten is hurrying down the steps of his porch, throwing open the door of Johnny’s car, and worming his way into the backseat with a grin on his face.

 

So. Ten is going on their date. _‘This is fine,’_ Yuta thinks to himself. _‘It’s just one date.’_

 

They eat at the diner, and Yuta is forced to sit in the booth opposite of Johnny and Ten. They go to the movies, and Ten sits between Yuta and Johnny. They walk around the park, and the sidewalk is too narrow for three bodies, so Johnny and Ten walk ahead while Yuta is left trailing behind them like a sad puppy.

 

 _‘He doesn’t want me here,’_ Yuta realizes as Ten’s hand slides into Johnny’s. ‘ _Neither of them want me here.’_

 

He walks home. He’s not even sure if the other two notice him walking away, but if they do, they don’t say anything.

 

When Yuta gets home, his father is in the living room holding a book in his hands. Johnny had lent it to Yuta after he’d complained about not being able to read as many books as everyone else.

 

“Yuta, what’s this?” his father asks. “I found it in your room.”

 

“I’ve never seen it before,” Yuta says. He doesn’t have the energy to make the lie sound believable, so his voice falls flat.

 

“Lying is a sin, Yuta. So is text from the outside world. You know this.”

 

Unlike all the other times, he doesn’t object to being dragged up the staircase and locked in the attic. For some reason, this time, the painting in front of him is a little less horrifying than any other time he’s visited here.

 

He prays, and his father lets him out of the attic with pride on his face when Yuta tells him this. “I’m glad you’re finally making an effort to pray, son,” he says on his way back down the stairs.

 

Yuta pulls his bedroom door closed and stares at his reflection in his dresser’s mirror. His eyes are tired. “I prayed,” he mutters under his breath, so soft that he can barely even hear his own voice. “Just not for what you wanted.”

 

* * *

 

“I like Ten,” Johnny says one day as he’s lifting Yuta’s shirt up and over his head. He says it casually, like he doesn’t think the words have any weight at all. 

 

Yuta feels his heart sink, and he’s forced to think carefully about his next words as his tongue turns to lead in his mouth.

 

Or maybe not, because soon he’s pulling Johnny in again wordlessly and threading his hands in Johnny’s hair.

 

“Did you hear me?” Johnny whispers, pulling away. Yuta chases his lips and draws him back into his arms.

 

“I bet he can’t kiss better than me,” Yuta says. His words come out muffled against Johnny’s lips, and he sighs when Johnny rakes his fingers through his hair.

 

“Yuta, do you understand that this is—”

 

Yuta grabs Johnny’s collar in his fist before the other gets a chance to move away. His hand feels like it's shaking. When he glances down at it, he finds it's not, but it's white from pressure, and he thinks that may be worse. “—We’re done, I know. So let me kiss you while I still can, dumbass.”

 

“What?” Johnny pulls away and keeps Yuta pressed flat against the door with his palm. “No, _no,_ I still want to be able to kiss you.” At this, he looks hopeful.

 

Yuta glances at Johnny’s lips for a second and tries not to stare. They’re swollen and pink, coated in clear and ready for him to kiss senseless again. Something strange pools in his stomach, something light and warm and not entirely unwelcome by Yuta.

 

“Is that okay?”

 

“Yeah,” Yuta breathes, a hand curling around Johnny’s neck. “Yeah, of course.”

 

Johnny kisses him again. This time, Yuta feels his stomach lurch. He spends the next hour pressed against the wall, frozen from the neck down and too confused to ask Johnny to stop.

 

“Your face is red,” his mother notes when he walks Johnny downstairs to leave. Yuta feels his blood run cold.

 

“I’m sick,” he says quietly, pressing the back of his hand to his cheek. The skin there burns under his touch, prickles with some emotion that's beyond him. His heart clenches, and with dread, Yuta starts to wonder if he really _is_ sick.

 

* * *

 

Johnny tends to spend more of his free time with Ten, and it’s rather obvious for Yuta’s taste. He sees new pictures of them together on Johnny’s profile almost every day—Johnny’s arm wrapped around Ten, Ten posing for candid pictures in front of old buildings, the two of them sharing a milkshake at the diner that Yuta had introduced Johnny to. (Who even shares milkshakes anymore, Yuta wonders. That’s a cliché straight out of a shitty 1960’s movie. 

 

And so Yuta is left in the dust.

 

Johnny comes around on Friday nights, when he knows that Yuta’s parents won’t be home. They’re gone to service meetings on Friday evenings, and soon, Yuta will be, too. But Johnny comes just before the sun goes down, and he presses Yuta against the wall of his childhood bedroom and takes Yuta’s silence as a plead for more.

 

“Ten and I are dating,” Johnny breathes into the crook of Yuta’s neck one night. The setting sun streams through Yuta’s blinds and casts orange stripes across the column of Johnny’s throat. Briefly, Yuta thinks that he looks elegant enough to live in a painting. Then, his words hit.

 

Yuta’s heart seems to clench in his chest, and he tries to look anywhere but Johnny’s eyes; his gaze flits from the corkboard above his desk to the Bible on his nightstand before finally settling on the curve of Johnny’s collarbones.

 

“Not... Not _dating,”_ Johnny says quickly, sensing the way Yuta’s eyes widen. “We went on a date. We’re dating, literally. I haven’t asked him to be my boyfriend yet.”

 

Yuta sucks on the inside of his cheek through his teeth and lets his mind work through Johnny’s words. He very pointedly ignores the word _yet_ and takes a moment to collect himself before looking up at Johnny again. “Do you still want to…?”

 

“One more,” Johnny mumbles, settling his hand around Yuta’s neck and drawing him forward.  “One more, and then…” His breath ghosts through Yuta’s lips, and Yuta finds himself yearning to breathe in more of it.

 

After a few agonizing moments wherein want amasses in his belly, white-hot as it creeps through him and turns his knees weak, Johnny leans down and presses his lips to Yuta’s. The want in his stomach quickly hardens to stone. It weighs him down to the ground by his shaky legs, but Johnny pitches Yuta against the wall and keeps kissing him.

 

Somewhere in between Johnny tonguing along the seam of Yuta’s lips and his hand threading through Yuta’s hair, Yuta feels himself being lifted up into the air. His legs cross around Johnny’s waist, and he sighs at the feeling of Johnny’s hands beneath him. There’s something comforting about it. Maybe it’s the trust.

 

His door flies open and hits the wall with a loud bang. Johnny jumps, and Yuta tumbles from his arms. He hits the floor and groans.

 

“Yuta, look what I brought—” His mother parades into the room and freezes when she sees Johnny with his hair mussed and his lips swollen.

 

The glass figurine in her hand slips through her grip and shatters when it hits the hardwood floor. Small shards of glass embed themselves in Yuta’s skin, but he’s too focused on his mother to even think about the pain. She raises a shaking hand to her mouth and backs out of the room slowly, murmuring nonsense to herself. Finally, she stops in the doorway, her words growing loud enough to fall on Yuta’s ears with clarity now: “Yuta, why would you… Yuta… _Why?”_

 

Tears spill over the hand that cups over her mouth. Slowly, Johnny steps forward, reaching an arm out to Yuta’s mother. She backs away until she’s pressed against the hallway wall. “No, I _trusted_ you. Get out of my house.”

 

“Mrs. Nakamoto, I can explain—” Johnny begins, but Yuta’s mother shakes her head. The hand covering her mouth flings to the side and extends a shaking finger towards the staircase.

 

“Get _out.”_

 

Johnny bites his cheek. He walks past Yuta’s mother, and Yuta listens to his footsteps as he retreats down the stairs and leaves the house without another word. Distantly, Yuta hears the sound of a door slamming shut.

 

“And _you,”_ his mother says, her voice dangerously low as Yuta scrambles to his feet. “I raised you better than this. You’re just as bad as _him.”_

 

“You say that like he’s evil,” Yuta says, eyes welling with tears. “He’s your son.”

 

“He _was,”_ his mother whispers. She wipes her eyes. “Go to the attic and pray. I’m going to call the Reverend.”

 

“Mom,” Yuta says. his heart pounds in his chest. “Don’t, please. I can change. Just don’t call him.”

 

His mother fixes him with a glare, and Yuta bites his lip, pushing through his doorway and turning to face the staircase. He creeps to the stairs and begins to climb. When he’s finally faced with the white attic door (bolted shut, for justified fear of the unknown), he flips the bolt, clicks the lock, and turns the knob.

 

Slowly, he steps inside and closes the door behind him. The room is dark. The only visible light peeks through the crack under the door. Yuta lets out a slow breath, reaches to his right (as he’s done a million times before), and picks up a small lighter and a candle, wrapping a finger around each and holding them loosely in one hand.

 

He lights the candle. The painting in front of him is suddenly illuminated with a golden glow, and the room’s shadows travel to its far corners, far, _far_ away from Yuta and the painting.

 

He kneels. Places the candle directly in front of the painting as if it’s an offering. Closes his eyes, shuts them so tight he can’t even see the light burn red into the backs of his eyelids. Specs of imaginary light dance before his mind, and he shakes his head a few times before opening his mouth to speak.

 

The lock clicks from the outside. His voice falters.

 

“I’m sorry,” Yuta whispers. Hot tears drip onto his wrist. “I’m so, so sorry.”

 

He opens his eyes and meets the ones carved into the painting. They’re red and misshapen, and Yuta feels his heart start to beat faster as he tries to choke his apology out. He chooses his next words carefully, his tongue caught between his teeth as if it’ll help him think.

 

“...And I’m sorry,” Yuta says, voice dropping to a dangerously low whisper. “I’m sorry, Almighty, but I think I’m really only sorry for getting caught.”

 

He winces and stares at the flame. It does not flicker. It does not waver. In fact, it seems to stay still, lulling gently behind the misted lamp that covers it. The pounding of his heart slows, and Yuta lets out a breath that he didn’t know he’d been holding.

 

He reaches out and closes his hand around the base of the candle. It doesn’t burn him. It’s cold to the touch.

 

He stares into the bloody eyes of the figure in the painting. He’s been told one too many times that it’s Jesus, but would Jesus answer him like _this?_ Its eyes are empty. They hold no emotion, no answers to his confession.

 

The candle is dark when the Reverend comes. By then, Yuta has already lost hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so that was the first part !! i'm updating this every four days so look forward to that! i'm sorry about johnny i love him so much but he has to be an asshole in this for everything to make sense
> 
> i hope you enjoyed! and please look forward to the next part :D 
> 
> stay safe drink water and remember that i love u!
> 
> -daniel 052019
> 
>    
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/markbfs)  
> [curious cat](https://curiouscat.me/markdery)


	2. from the razor to the rosary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuta finds a friend and new hope in the places he least expects.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the chapter's title is from [it's not a fashion statement, it's a deathwish](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uPMDRsH1YRU) by my chemical romance. enjoy!
> 
>  [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/67MNYZDoXrjwcET3cMg4Zh)

 

The first thing Yuta notices is that Reverend Song’s office is dimly-lit. He vaguely remembers this scene from a few years prior; the shelves lining the wall are all-too-familiar to him, as is the old executive desk that’s fixed to the center of the room. There’s a padded leather chair behind it, and the Reverend takes a seat in it with more ease than Yuta expects.

 

(Yuta remembers trying to muster the courage to sit in the chair once before. He’d broken into the office, stolen files, even, but couldn’t bring himself to sit in a damn chair. Now, as he cowers in the doorway of Reverend Song’s office, he thinks that there must be something more to that chair. Something evil, something vile.)

 

He blinks. Reverend Song pushes a book across the desk with his index finger.

 

“Sit, Yuta,” he says decidedly, and Yuta’s legs make their way to the hard wooden stool before his mind even processes the command.

 

“Do you know why you’re here?”

 

Yuta gulps. “No, Sir,” he lies. Reverend Song pats the book in front of Yuta. Yuta tries his hardest not to meet his eyes, but they draw him in, and suddenly, he can’t look away.

 

“Open it,” the Reverend says. Yuta runs his fingers along the edges of the pages. There are patterns carved into them, cutting through the golden lining, and he finds that these pages are familiar. Too familiar. He has been punished too harshly because of these pages.

 

His fingers dance along the pages of the Bible, which is still unopened. They round the corner of the book and run over a pattern that leaves Yuta’s hand flinching away like he’s been burned. He doesn’t have to look there to know what’s been carved.

 

 _“Y + T,”_ the pages’ lining reads. A crudely-carved heart sits next to the words. And then, succeeding the heart: _“BEST BROTHERS!”_

 

The Reverend clears his throat. “Open it,” he repeats. Yuta curls his nails beneath the pages and flips the Bible open. It lands on a chapter of Job. Cruel, he thinks. The Reverend says the name of a chapter that he knows all-too-well, and his fingers card through the pages, back, _back,_ until he finds it.

 

“Read it.”

 

“Read what,” Yuta says. His words fall from his mouth emptily, and at this point, he’s not even sure why he’s being this stubborn anymore.

 

 _“You know,”_ Reverend Song says, his voice lowering. Yuta’s muscles go rigid, and hesitantly, he begins to read.

 

“Thou shalt not lie with mankind as with womankind,” Yuta chokes out. The words stutter more than he’d like. He glances up at Reverend Song only to see expectant eyes glaring back at him, so he swallows and continues. “...It is an abomination.”

 

The Reverend says nothing. After a few seconds—or minutes, or _hours,_ because the clock on the wall has read twelve at night for far too long even though the sun has barely set—Yuta purses his lips and pushes the Bible away.

 

“Are you going to excommunicate me?” Yuta asks, and a small part of him hopes for an answer that isn’t ideal at all.

 

“No,” the Reverend says decidedly. He laces his fingers and sets his wrists on the desk. “You’ve been influenced by that brother of yours, and for that, I can’t blame you. But I can’t let this go, either. Surely you understand.”

 

Yuta nods.

 

“You’ll start homeschool, effective immediately. This is your warning. If you interact with anyone who isn’t a part of the Church, you _will_ be removed. Clear?”

 

Again, Yuta nods.

 

“Good. Now, as you know, I’m not simply going to let you get away with this unscathed.”

 

“Of course,” Yuta finds himself saying. Behind the desk and out of the Reverend’s line of sight, his knees shake.

 

The Reverend smiles. “Please close the door.”

 

Yuta stands and crosses the room. He glances out into the hallway and meets eyes with a girl. She’s very pretty, with wide, bright eyes and full lips. Yuta vaguely recalls meeting with her during a study group, and that she was Japanese, too, and younger than him by only a couple of years.

 

She glances at him with her mouth twisted into a pout. She mouths the word _sorry_ to him, and Yuta immediately scowls. He slams the door and locks it. He doesn’t want or need her pity.

 

He turns back to Reverend Song, who’s stood from his desk. He’s next to the wooden stool, and he’s clutching the rosary around his neck with a sad smile. “Come here, Yuta,” he says, and Yuta does.

 

 _‘Don’t cry,’_ he tells himself. _‘You can’t cry.’_

 

He soon learns that thirty lashes and a cross on his collar are enough to cry over, though.

 

* * *

 

Homeschool is different from what Yuta expects. He thinks he knows what’s in store for him: his mother, exhausted, dragging him out of bed each morning and piling textbooks in front of him, leaving him to his own devices because she’s too disgusted to even talk to him.

 

Instead, he gets a computer.

 

It’s old and blocky and doesn’t look at all like the ones that his classmates had before he left, the little portable thin ones that he yearned to take apart and put together again. It’s covered in a thin layer of dust that his father wipes off with a dirty rag from the kitchen. It takes nearly an hour to power on, and when it does, Yuta’s father claps him on the shoulder (away from which Yuta flinches) and lets out a sigh.

 

“This is your new teacher. I’ve blocked every website that could cause trouble for you, so don’t even think about trying to find one. And we’ll keep it down here, in the living room, so that if you _do_ cause trouble, you won’t do it in private.”

 

His father pats the rickety desk chair and pulls it out for Yuta to sit in. Yuta averts his eyes.

 

“Dad?”

 

His father pauses for a moment. “What, Yuta?”

 

“Are you mad at me?”

 

“For going behind my back?” his father asks, mouth twisting into a frown. “For lying to me, for bringing a boy into my home?”

 

Yuta fixes his bottom lip between his teeth and chews.

 

“I’m not mad,” his father says finally. There’s more to say, but Yuta knows the words are better left unsaid. At least, he thinks so. “But you’re better than this, and I know that.”

 

His father turns and brushes past Yuta to leave the room. Yuta hears a faint sniff, and before he can process it, his hand is resting on his father’s shoulder. They both freeze. “Dad,” Yuta finds himself saying, his throat tight. “Dad, do you miss him?”

 

“Don’t ask me that.” His father’s voice is firm as he turns to face Yuta, scowling, but his eyes are glassy, and his lips tremble just the slightest bit to give him away. “It’s better for both of us if you don’t talk about him here.”

 

“You miss him, too, though?” Yuta chews his lip. “Say it. He’s still your son, and you know he is.”

 

His father blinks. A lone tear beads below his eyelid and slowly tracks down his face.  “Did you know that the last time I saw him, he was being carried out of his room, and he was so beaten-up that I could hardly recognize him?”

 

Yuta swallows. His throat seems to grow impossibly tighter.

 

“They made sure you weren’t home to see it because you were so young,” his father says, raising a hand to wipe the tear from his cheek. “He wasn’t moving. I couldn’t tell if he was breathing or not. And I was too much of a coward to stop them from taking him. I can’t let them take you, too, okay? I… I failed him. I won’t fail you, too. I need you to be _careful_ for me.”

 

“You still care about him,” Yuta says. His eyes sting. “Say his name.” He’s not sure what prompts him to say it. His eyes widen as soon as the words leave his mouth.

 

His father sets his jaw and shakes his head. “Not here. Not now.”

 

“Then _when?”_ Yuta rests a hand on his heart. The fabric of his shirt is damp. When he pulls his hand away, it’s stained red. He tugs his shirt’s collar down to reveal the fresh wound on his collarbone, and his father covers his mouth in horror.

 

“Reverend Song did this?”

 

“It’s not that bad,” Yuta lies, pressing two fingers to it. The skin there stings in a way that Yuta has never felt before. He hisses and pulls his fingers away. “Can I have something to clean it?”

 

“You have a bathroom,” someone says suddenly. His mother emerges from the kitchen with a scowl. “You have clean water. Do it yourself.”

 

Yuta glances at his father, who’s still staring at the cross on his collar. His face is red, and his hands shake.

 

It’s not worth it, he decides, to argue with his mother when there won’t be any good outcome in the first place. So he swallows the lump in his throat and stares at the ground as he treks up the staircase. He doesn’t lift his head until he’s well out of his parents’ sight, and when he does, he’s outside his room. He can’t bring himself to go inside.

 

There’s a picture hanging next to the frame of his bedroom door, one that Yuta had once hated with such a passion that he refused to even look at it. It’s of his family at the beach on the only vacation Yuta’s ever had. To his left is his father, grinning proudly, and to his right is a white rip in the photograph that cuts down the middle and through his arm. Glued crudely to the original half of the photograph is a cutout of his mother, simpering in the sunlight with a straw sun hat pulled over her eyes. The ocean paints the background of the photo, blue and green and foaming white as a colony of seagulls swoops down into the sea for their lunch.

 

He lets out a breath and finally pushes his door open, stepping inside his room just as his collarbone starts to throb again. He finds an old white shirt and presses it against the wound. When he pulls it away, it’s soiled with a bloody cross.

 

There’s nothing else he can do, he realizes, wadding the shirt and pressing it as firmly to his collar as he can. He finds a roll of duct tape in the drawer of his desk and winds it across his body, starting at his rib and wrapping it across his chest, over his shoulder, and then around his back. It takes a few layers to get the tape to finally secure the shirt, and when it does, Yuta breaks the roll, sets it on his desk, and collapses onto his bed.

 

Hours later, the shirt is stuck to his skin, and the wound has scabbed over the fabric. He doesn’t bother peeling it off.

 

* * *

 

Attending church services now is especially fun. Yuta quickly realizes that absolutely no one wants to talk to him anymore, so word must have gotten out about his _scandal._

 

Even his parents sit in a pew far away from him. He can tell that there are at least thirty pairs of eyes on the back of his head, following every single move he makes, but he doesn’t care enough to turn around and reprimand them. Yuta sits through an hour and a half of preaching, and halfway through, he realizes that they’re not even supposed to be studying this chapter. They’re supposed to be reading from Ruth, because it’s from the Old Testament and no one will be upset if it’s from there. Instead, they’re reading from Leviticus. And they’re analyzing the same lines that Yuta had been forced to read in Reverend Song’s office.

 

Speaking of Reverend Song—he catches the Reverend staring at him more times than he can count. And in several instances, kids his age turn around in their seats to stare Yuta with narrowed eyes as the Reverend preaches.

 

There’s one boy, though, one Yuta has never spoken to in his _life,_ who slides into his pew just when everyone starts to stand and mingle in the aisle. There’s a softness in his eyes that Yuta has only ever seen in one other person before, and it makes Yuta especially vulnerable to his greeting.

 

“Hey, are you…” The boy rests a hand on Yuta’s knee. “Are you alright?”

 

Yuta stares. “That’s a really dumb question.”

 

“Yeah, well. I figured you might want to talk.”

 

“Why? Why with you?”

 

The boy stands and offers Yuta a hand. “Because I know no one else is going to do it, and I know you deserve better than that. So. Coffee?”

 

Yuta takes his hand and stands. No one sees them slip out the back door of the church, and no one sees them sneak away from the neighborhood and into the small retail block near Yuta’s house.

 

Later, as he sips on a hot chocolate, he learns that the boy’s name is Taeyong, and that he’s not really alone after all.

 

* * *

 

As it turns out, Taeyong’s a better friend than Johnny ever was. They actually do things together, for starters, and Taeyong actively listens to Yuta instead of just brushing off every word he says.

 

“Yeah, no, Johnny was a dick,” Taeyong says one day, wiping a bit of water from the corner of his mouth. In the sunlight, the layer of sweat on his face seems to glow. “Seriously.”

 

“He wasn’t that bad,” Yuta says. “At least he cared.”

 

“If he cared, he wouldn’t date another person and tell you about it.”

 

“So if he cared, he’d do it in secret?” Yuta raises an eyebrow.

 

“No, I mean—” He throws a hand up in exasperation. When he notices the smirk playing on Yuta’s lips, he pouts. “You know what I mean!”

 

Yuta laughs. For a second, he realizes that this is the first time he remembers genuinely laughing since the time he’d spent with Johnny. He pushes the thought far from his mind.

 

“And listen,” Taeyong says, his voice softening. “I know you still care about him. You probably will for a while. But I need to make sure you know he was bad for you.”

 

“It’s not even that big of a deal,” Yuta says. He feels his throat start to tighten with dread. “Really. We had a thing for a month or two. It wasn’t that crazy. The only thing I regret about it is getting caught.”

 

“Give it time.” Taeyong stands and offers a hand to Yuta. “C’mon. Let’s finish up, and then I can walk you home.”

 

“I don’t even get the point of community service,” Yuta frowns, grabbing Taeyong’s hand and pulling himself to his feet. “I made out with a guy. It’s not like I killed a man.”

 

“I’ve found it’s better not to question what the Reverend says,” Taeyong says, pulling his hand away from Yuta’s. He runs his finger gently over a small scar on the guard of his palm. He shakes his head suddenly, clapping Yuta on the back and pulling him towards the side of the road. “Hurry. The sun’s gonna set soon.”

 

They finish their work quickly. By the time Taeyong brings Yuta to his doorstep, the sun has halfway disappeared below the treeline. When Yuta knocks on his front door to be let in, his mother swings the door open almost immediately. She forces a smile when she notices Taeyong and beckons him inside.

 

“You’re Yuta’s new friend?” She asks, closing the door behind Taeyong and resting a hand on his shoulder.

 

He nods. “Yes, ma’am. I’m Lee Taeyong.” He makes a move towards the door. “I don’t mean to intrude—”

 

“—Not at all!” Yuta’s mother pulls him forward. Yuta feels helpless. “Come sit down. Tell me about yourself. Yuta, go make some tea.”

 

Yuta _does_ make the tea, but he doesn’t bring it into the room when it’s done. He stays in the kitchen, pressed against the wall as he tries to listen to his mother and Taeyong. He can’t even hear much of the conversation, but it’s worth a try.

 

“Yuta!” his mother calls some time later. “Come and say goodbye to Taeyong!”

 

And so Taeyong leaves with Yuta staring after him like he’ll never see him again. Taeyong looks shaken as he leaves, with a hardness around his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

 

“He’s nice,” Yuta’s mother says. “I’m fine with you hanging around him. I told him he could take you to see a movie sometime soon.”

 

“What did you say to him?” Yuta asks, locking the front door.

 

“Nothing you should worry about.”

 

He does anyway.

 

* * *

 

In his mother’s terms, _sometime soon_ seems to mean _within the next few days._ That’s how Yuta ends up standing in line for twenty minutes for a movie that he knows nothing about. Taeyong talks nonstop about it; apparently, the main character is his favorite actor, and he’s been anticipating this movie for over a year.

 

For a moment, just a split second, his world hits its highest point. And then it all comes crashing down.

 

It’s their turn to get their tickets. The boy in the booth is older than him by a few years, and he looks familiar. _Too_ familiar. Yuta can’t place where he knows the boy from, but it’s there in the back of his mind, prodding and jabbing at him to open his mouth and say the name.

 

“Hi, how can I help you today?” the boy asks without looking up from the register.

 

“Two for—” Taeyong slides a bill across the counter, but the attendant doesn’t notice. He’s too busy staring at Yuta now.

 

“—Yuta?”

 

A hand grips his shoulder. Yuta is surprised to find that it’s Taeyong’s. Panic grips him. He’s not sure what to do, so he murmurs the name of the movie and turns to leave as soon as he gets their tickets. Taeyong’s arm wraps around him. “Was that…?”

 

“Yeah,” he says, breathless. “It’s fine. I’m fine. Come on. Let’s go watch the movie.”

 

“Yuta?”

 

Oh, he does _not_ need this right now.

 

“Yuta!”

 

“Hi, Ten,” he says, forcing a smile that’s so tight it hurts. “How’ve you been?”

 

Ten pushes through the line and holds Yuta’s wrist. “Yuta, I’m _so_ sorry. I had no idea what Johnny was doing.”

 

“It’s alright,” Yuta says, mostly just to get Ten to quit talking.

 

“I didn’t know you knew Ten,” Taeyong says offhandedly. Yuta ignores him.

 

“No, I—” Ten runs a hand through his hair. “He told me you were playing for his affection and that he didn’t want anything to do with you. And he told me you were trying to steal him away from me, and I shouldn’t have believed him, but I _did,_ and…” Ten glances up at Yuta helplessly. There are dark circles beneath his eyes. “I’m just sorry. That’s all.”

 

Yuta knits his eyebrows. It takes him a minute, but finally, the words roll off his tongue as natural as they’ve ever come: “It’s okay.”

 

“I know you loved him,” Ten frowns, “or liked him a lot, at the very least. It was a dick move of me to try and keep you away from him.”

 

Yuta feels his heart sink. “Loved him?”

 

“Liked him, then,” Ten backtracks.

 

He hadn’t considered that.

 

“Wait, hey, are you okay?” the arm around him falls off limply. “Yuta? Yuta, say something.”

 

He can’t. He can’t even breathe. Everything is loud, _so_ loud, and _he can’t breathe, not here, not while it’s so crowded, so full of life._ How dare the Earth continue to turn instead of freezing to soothe the feeling in his chest? How can the crowd around him stop and stare as he collapses in on himself? As his hands thread in his hair, as he falls to the ground, numb?

 

Taeyong is gone. Ten is gone. They’ve both retreated into the crowd that forms around Yuta. The pressure in his chest builds and builds until he thinks he can’t take it anymore, and he is convinced that here, in this moment, he will die. Funnily enough, the source of his distress is the furthest thing from his mind right now.

 

And then the pressure dissolves into air, filling his lungs as strong arms wrap around him.

 

He breathes in and wipes the tears from his eyes, turning his head to paw miserably at the arms around his torso.

 

“It’s alright,” the boy holding him says. “Yuta, it’s just me.”

 

It takes a few seconds for Yuta to say the name. When it comes out, it sounds more like a sob than a coherent thought. “Takuya,” he cries, falling in on himself again.

 

How long has it been? Six or seven years, at the very least. And now, wrapped around him like he’s never letting go, is his brother, and he’s _alive._

 

His chest aches. Takuya pulls him up and walks him out of the theater, into a parking lot, and towards a beaten-up little town car that looks seconds away from breaking down. “It’s alright,” he says. “Come on, get in the car. I’ll take you home.”

 

“I never thought I’d see you again,” Yuta babbles as he climbs into the passenger seat and pulls the seatbelt across his body. “I thought they killed you. I thought… Takuya, I thought you were _dead._ I’ve visited your grave.”

 

“I’ve been here this whole time,” Takuya says, starting the car and pulling out of the parking lot. He drives with one hand and rests his free hand on Yuta’s knee. “You didn’t seem too excited to see me at the counter.”

 

“I panicked,” Yuta says. The words don’t come out the way he wants them to. He _didn’t_ panic. He was confused, maybe. Disoriented. But he wasn’t panicked. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry they did all that to you. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to stop them.”

 

“You were just a kid,” Takuya says quietly. “You still are. I’m just glad they haven’t done to you what they did to me.”

 

Yuta says nothing. Takuya stops the car in someone’s driveway.

 

“...They didn’t, did they?”

 

Yuta scratches at the scar on his collarbone. It’s still healing, so pain stabs through his skin when his nails rake the wound. Takuya reaches across the dash with a shaking hand and tugs Yuta’s shirt down to reveal the scabbed cross there.

 

Takuya lets his hand trace the skin around Yuta’s scar. “When did they do this?” he runs a thumb gently over the scar. “It looks fresh.”

 

“A week or two ago,” Yuta says, raising his head to glance at the house in front of him. It’s his own, he realizes when Takuya unbuckles his seatbelt and gets out of the car, grabbing a small bag from the console as he steps onto the pavement.

 

“Do you wanna tell me what happened?”

 

“I kissed a boy,” Yuta says, feeling his pulse start to quicken. He steps onto the pavement and approaches the front door. “I think I fell in love with him.”

 

“They caught you,” Takuya says, nodding. “And they gave you that scar.”

 

“Song did,” Yuta says, lips curling into a sneer. “I hate him.”

 

“I know.” Takuya pushes the front door open. “I do, too.”

 

Yuta feels his hands start to shake. “I hate him _so much,_ Takuya.”

 

“I know,” Takuya murmurs, wrapping his arms around Yuta and walking him to the staircase. “Where do you need to be?”

 

“Attic,” Yuta gasps, the urge in his chest to fall on his knees and beg forgiveness as he’s done a hundred times before giving way and expanding into a _need._ He feels breathless. “This keeps happening to me,” he says. “I keep breaking down. I don’t know _why.”_

 

“I know,” Takuya says, walking Yuta up the stairs and staring after his old room as they pass it. “I know. Me too.” He freezes. Yuta turns his head to see what he’s looking at.

 

It’s the photo. The one from the family vacation, from which Takuya is poorly cropped.

 

“They took me out.” He doesn’t sound sad. He doesn’t sound happy, either. Takuya’s voice is flat and monotonous as he speaks, and Yuta translates that into a realization that he just doesn’t _care_ anymore.

 

He thinks about Takuya’s torn piece of the photo and tugs Takuya along. “Come on,” he says, the words coming out quieter than he expects.

 

The attic is dark. There aren’t any lights, so he strikes up a candle and pulls his brother into the room, shutting the door behind them. “Mom and Dad won’t be home for a while,” he says, forcing the candle into Takuya’s hands. His brother is stiff, and his knuckles are white with tension as he grips the candle with enough force to break it.

 

Yuta approaches the painting in the center of the room. He runs his index finger along the frame, sliding it up and down several times before he finds a small opening and jabs two fingers inside. They worm around for a few seconds before clinging onto a small piece of paper and pulling them out of the painting. He runs his thumb over the smooth, glossy side of the photo. It’s comforting.

 

Yuta holds the photo up next to Takuya’s puzzled face. He looks exactly the same as he did in the photo, and when Yuta realizes this, he has to wipe tears from his eyes. He clutches the photo and holds it to his chest, sinking down to his knees and letting himself cry freely.

 

“Don’t cry,” Takuya says, dropping the candle onto the floor and lowering himself to the ground. He pulls Yuta into a hug and shelters his head. “Don’t cry right now. I’m here. Everything is okay.”

 

“For now,” Yuta murmurs into Takuya’s chest.

 

“I know. I know, but listen, if you need out, I’m always here in town. Okay? Don’t let them take you,” Takuya whispers. “As soon as you have a chance to get out, _go._ I’ve stayed in town this long to make sure you were going to be okay, and I’m not leaving anytime soon. If you ever need me, take one of your friends to the movie theater and ask any of the workers for me, alright? They’ll know.”

 

Yuta nods as best he can with Takuya’s hands cradling his head. “When?”

 

“Anytime you ever need me. And I don’t know what lies they’ve told you about me, but they’re wrong. Their god is cruel. He’s not who you think he is. Everything they’ve ever taught you is wrong in every sense. I’ve lost too many people to this fucking cult. I can’t lose you, too. Not after I’ve just gotten you back.”

 

“Cult,” Yuta repeats back to him, and Takuya’s breathing seems to shallow. The word feels foreign on his tongue. “I hadn’t thought of it like that.”

 

“It is,” Takuya says. He takes in a shaky breath. “They nearly killed me. They hurt you. They keep us locked away from the outside world. You’re lucky you get to go to school with people who aren’t in it, because you have at least a few ties to the—”

 

“They pulled me out of school when they realized I was making out with my high school best friend,” Yuta says with a bitter laugh as he pulls away from Takuya’s embrace. His eyes feel dry and raw, but he keeps his hand fixed in his lap instead of rubbing them. He scratches at his broken nails until Takuya reaches forward and laces their hands together.

 

“So you’re stuck here until you graduate,” Takuya frowns.

 

“Pretty much.”

 

The photo lies between them on the floor now, the colored side facing the floorboards. It’s worn around the edges from where Yuta had clutched it to his chest, but it can’t possibly be _too_ damaged from just that, so Yuta lifts it and smooths it out before clasping his hands over it once again, cautious this time to make sure it isn’t creased.

 

“What’s this?” Takuya asks, a hand finding its way over Yuta’s. Yuta glances up at him with wide eyes and nods.

 

Takuya gently pries Yuta’s hands apart and pulls the photo from them. He flips it over with as little force as he can manage. When he recognizes the photo—the younger version of himself, the ocean roaring behind him—he gasps, a hand flying to his mouth as the photo flutters back to the ground.

 

“How did you get this?” Takuya asks, gingerly lifting the photo and running a thumb over it.

 

“Mom and Dad were arguing, so I sneaked into the kitchen and dug it out of the trash can.”

 

“And you’ve kept it here all these years?”

 

“Of course,” Yuta says, furrowing his eyebrows. “I thought I would never see you again. I needed something to remember you by.”

 

 _“Yuta,”_ Takuya says. His words come out choked and watery, and this time, it’s _his_ turn to cry as Yuta pulls him into a hug. He stays there for a few minutes, crying into Yuta’s shoulder as the younger rubs circles into the small of his back. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, gasping in a breath and returning to Yuta’s shoulder. “I should’ve been here. I could’ve stayed, I could’ve kept quiet, but—”

 

“It’s not your fault.” Yuta pulls away from Takuya and steadies his hands on the older’s shoulders. “I’m not even sure what happened, but it’s _not_ your fault.”

 

“I told Mom I was gay.” Takuya covers his face with his hands and massages his temples. “She told the Reverend, and he excommunicated me.”

 

Yuta tightens his grip on Takuya, but the older pushes lightly away from Yuta and rises to his feet. He retreats to the door and bends over to pick something up. He tosses it to Yuta and presses the photo back into Yuta’s hands, where it belongs.

 

“Open it.”

 

It’s a rucksack, leather and worn, and it opens easily, folds over itself with such little resistance that Yuta _knows_ its ages old. Inside is a disposable phone, a slip of paper with a phone number scribbled messily onto it, a folder full of worn letters and notes, and an old stuffed bear.

 

“It was mine, once,” Takuya says sheepishly when Yuta pulls the bear out of the rucksack and raises an eyebrow. “I thought you might want it. I’ve kept that bag with me since I got kicked out in case I ever ran into you.”

 

Yuta hugs the bear to his chest. “Thank you,” he whispers, his voice low. “And the letters?”

 

“Nonsense I’ve written for you,” Takuya shrugs. He turns the knob on the attic door and pulls the door open. “Mom and Dad will be home soon. I need to leave.”

 

“They come home later now,” Yuta says quickly, taking a few steps towards Takuya to stop him. “You don’t have to leave just yet.”

 

“I don’t want to risk it and get you in trouble.”

 

“Wait!” Yuta calls as Takuya retreats down the hall. He pulls the family vacation picture off the wall and slips the photo through the frame. He pulls the poorly-glued sides apart and rips himself out of the photo, then slides the photo’s remaining halves back into the frame and hangs it up.

 

He hands the torn and final fourth of the photo to Takuya, who takes it gingerly between his fingers.

 

“Now we’re even,” Yuta says, offering him a half-smile that’s weaker than his legs feel.

 

Takuya steps forward and pulls him in for one last hug. “I love you,” he says. “That’s my number, in the bag. If you need me, call me on that phone.”

 

“I will,” Yuta promises. Takuya pulls away from the hug, and as quickly as he had returned, he’s gone, down the stairs and out the door and settled safely inside his car. The sound of an engine rumbling tells him that Takuya is really leaving.

 

He retreats back into the attic tucks the disposable phone, the slip of paper, and Takuya’s photo inside the painting. He locks the attic door behind him, shoulders the rucksack, and shuts himself inside his room.

 

The rucksack replaces the filler of his duvet. No one will think to look there, he promises himself.

 

The teddy bear stays under his pillow, though. In the cover of night, he’ll make sure to hold it close, to give it as much love as he has for Takuya.

 

He sleeps that night with the bear tucked under his arm, a soft smile on his face and elation building in his chest.

 

* * *

 

It’s a while before he sees Taeyong again. They see each other at church about a week after Yuta meets Takuya.

 

“Did everything turn out alright?” Taeyong asks, sliding into the pew next to him.

 

Yuta can’t help the smile that appears on his face then, wide and bright and so, _so_ happy. “Yeah,” he nods, and Taeyong beams. “Yeah, it did.”

 

“Good,” Taeyong murmurs. “Because the next time we go out, we’re going to Jung Yoonoh’s party, and it’s not going to be as disastrous as last time we went out.”

 

“Disastrous,” Yuta repeats, a dry laugh slipping past his lips. “Alright, I’ll bite. By next time, you mean…?”

 

“This Friday.”

 

“I’ll see what I can do.”

 

* * *

 

His mother says yes. Of course she does.

 

Yuta has no idea what he’s getting himself into. By now, he should know that’s a normal occurrence.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> phew this was a ride. so like!!! takuya and yuta!!!!!! best brothers ever <3 listen i had a TIME writing their reunion it was so pointlessly cathartic for me hhh
> 
> i promise ten will start to show up next chapter but i really needed to set all this into motion lol. anyways i hope u enjoyed the chapter, i remember writing it clear as day and it was really weird to edit because like. hey i wrote that and it feels like i wrote it yesterday
> 
> the third part will be up in four days, as promised <3 stay safe drink water and remember that i love you!!
> 
> -daniel 052319
> 
>  
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/markbfs)
> 
>  
> 
> [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/markdery)


	3. lips against the sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuta learns to live.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello!!! i hope u enjoy this part as it was very cathartic to write and i loved writing it sm :> the chapter's title comes from [wave(s)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aN9kKAyk1-w) by lewis del mar
> 
>  
> 
> [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/67MNYZDoXrjwcET3cMg4Zh)

 

Somehow, Yuta ends up here.

 

 _Here_ being Jung Yoonoh’s house, pressed against the bannister of the second floor with Taeyong as people who Yuta knows from school chase some kind of high, whether it be homemade or through frantic lips.

 

He remembers Yoonoh from school. He’d been the quiet, smart kid who always sat in the front of the class and raised his hand when no one else would. On holidays, he’d bring all his teachers gifts and wish them well.

 

That’s why it’s so hard for Yuta to believe his eyes when they find Jung Yoonoh, teacher’s pet extraordinaire, with his back against the hallway of his childhood home, legs locked around a skinny boy’s waist as lips press into his neck.

 

“This is insane,” Yuta murmurs into Taeyong’s ear. His eyes don’t know where to focus first.

 

“What?” Taeyong shouts.

 

“This is crazy!”

 

Taeyong grins, bobbing his head up and down in agreement. “Come on, let’s get some drinks!”

 

Yuta tries to count how many times he’s shoved into the wall as they make their way through the house, weaving through warm bodies that stop and curl hands around their arms for purposes that Yuta would prefer not to learn. He loses count somewhere around the dozenth time.

 

It’s worth it, though, to finally have a cold drink in his hands. It’s slick through the red plastic Solo cup it’s in, and it nearly slips out of Yuta’s hand when he raises it to his lips. The ice brushes against his nose as he takes a gulp.

 

He nearly spits the drink out when the taste kicks in. He slams the cup on the counter and wipes up the excess that’s spilled out with his sleeve. “This is alcohol,” he rasps, eyebrows knitting as he looks up at Taeyong.

 

“What did you think it was?”

 

Yuta rolls his eyes. “Look, you know better than anyone else that if we get caught drinking, we’ll be cleaning the church until we graduate.”

 

“I don’t think there’s any water here, man,” Taeyong tilts his head. “This is a house party. The only thing the people here know how to do is drink, do lines, and have sex.”

 

“And you?” Yuta crosses his arms.

 

Taeyong grins at him and grabs his wrist, pulling him along. He forces Yuta’s abandoned drink back into his hand. “I’m one of the good ones. Come on. Let’s find someone to talk to.”

 

Yuta pulls his wrist from Taeyong’s grip and stops in the middle of the room. At his side, a girl begins talking to him sweetly. “You go on. I’m going to go get some air.”

 

Taeyong shrugs, “Your loss,” and then he’s gone.

 

Still holding the Solo cup in his hands, Yuta weaves through what must be another thirty people before he reaches the door and steps outside onto the porch. There are two rocking chairs there, and he settles into one, staring at the red cup in his hands with an intensity that feels like it could kill a man. He nurses the drink in little sips, enough to haze his thoughts but not enough to cause any real harm—at least, he thinks so.

 

He watches the wind gently sway the dark silhouettes of trees under the cover of night. In the corner of his eye, a door swings open, and heavy footsteps clack onto the wooden porch.

 

Someone sits in the rocking chair next to him. It creaks under their weight.

 

“What’re _you_ doing here?”

 

Yuta turns his head, tightening his grip on his drink. He tries to make sense of the amused smirk staring back at him. “...Hi, Ten,” he says, trapped.

 

“No, really, what are you doing here? Because Johnny told me you weren’t allowed to go outside ever again just before I dropped him, and clearly, that’s not true.”

 

“Dropped him?” Yuta echoes.

 

“Y’know,” Ten says, whirling his hands around in some gesture that Yuta doesn’t understand. “Like, I quit talking to him. I dropped him.”

 

Yuta hums, and they lapse into silence. He listens to the cicadas in the trees and tries not to think about how uncomfortable Ten must be right now. “My parents trust Taeyong, so they think I’m staying over at his place. And I am, just not right now. He dragged me here.”

 

He glances at the Solo cup in his hands. It’s still over halfway full.

 

Ten throws his right leg over his left and slings an arm over the arm of his chair. It hangs loosely now, swinging back and forth in time with the rocking of the chair. “I take it you don’t _really_ want to drink that Budweiser?”

 

“Is that what this is?” Yuta asks, dipping his finger in the cup. He stirs around the ice, then pulls his finger out and sucks off the excess that drips from it. “Hm. Still tastes as bad as it did two minutes ago.”

 

He glances to his side. Ten is staring at his lips, and oh, he _cannot_ do this again.

 

“D’you want it?” Yuta asks quickly, sloshing the beer around in its cup as he holds it out to Ten, who reaches out and closes a hand around the cup. Their fingers brush as Yuta pulls his hand away.

 

Ten takes a sip and wrinkles his nose. “Somebody spiked this,” he says, but keeps drinking anyway. “With some other kind of alcohol. I thought we were all past that.”

 

“Is that why it tastes so bad?”

 

Ten grins into the rim of the drink. “Yeah. Usually, Bud doesn’t taste this nasty. But this is a poorly-planned high school party where kids will do anything to get shitfaced, so…” He lifts the Solo cup like he’s toasting it. “Here’s to cheap beer spiked with tequila.”

 

Yuta laughs. It’s not even funny, but he laughs.

 

Ten glances at him, nurses the drink a little longer. “You’re pretty,” he says.

 

Yuta turns his face away at the sensation of warmth spreading through his face. “What am I supposed to say to that?”

 

“Well, you could start with _thanks,_ maybe follow with _you, too…”_

 

Yuta turns to face Ten again with wide eyes. Ten stares at him for a few seconds, and then he bursts into laughter, prompting Yuta to laugh, too.

 

It’s not until they calm down that Yuta realizes the Solo cup is empty, and that Ten is steady on the path to becoming drunk.

 

“I’m gonna go.” Yuta stands and makes his way towards the door, but Ten stumbles towards him.

 

“Hey, wait!” Ten stares up at him with wide eyes and a hopeful smile. “Am I ever gonna see you again?”

 

“Maybe,” Yuta quips. He feels his mind go a little hazy with the way Ten is looking at him. “Depends on whether Taeyong wants to keep me around.”

 

And then he’s gone, off to find Taeyong and avoid anyone else he may know in this house. He doesn’t find Taeyong for another hour, and when he does, the older is talking enthusiastically to Yoonoh’s pet lizard, which sits quietly in the corner of its cage.

 

“You know it can’t talk back, right?” Yuta says, resting a hand on Taeyong’s shoulder to let him know he’s there.

 

“The perfect companion,” Taeyong sighs dreamily, and Yuta groans, grabbing Taeyong’s wrist and pulling him away from the cage, through the house, and out the front door.

 

“We’re gonna go back to your house now,” Yuta says, and Taeyong starts to whine and complain. Yuta manages to get him inside the car they’d driven here—Taeyong’s car, a beaten up model that had to have been passed down from his parents—and gets behind the steering wheel.

 

Taeyong leans across the console and rests his head on Yuta’s shoulder. His breath reeks of alcohol, something fruity that has Yuta pushing him away.

 

“You don’t know where my house is,” Taeyong says, his head pressed against the car window.

 

“I do,” Yuta assures him, but he _doesn’t,_ and he only realizes this as he’s driving through the neighborhood he’s always lived in and passing sixty fucking mailboxes all engraved with _‘LEE.’_

 

He finds Taeyong’s house eventually. It takes him longer than he’d care to admit. The house is dead silent when Yuta drags Taeyong inside, and it takes him nearly five minutes to find Taeyong’s room. Afterward, when Yuta tucks Taeyong into bed and lies down on the floor to sleep, Taeyong is mumbling about some apparent pretty boy who looks like an angel and sounds like he’s from Heaven.

 

Yuta throws a pillow onto his face, and then Taeyong shuts up and falls asleep. Yuta stays wide awake, mind trained on the barely-there buzz of alcohol on his tongue and the thought of the pretty boy who’d been staring at his lips.

 

Whatever.

 

* * *

 

“I went to put away your laundry yesterday, and I found something very interesting.”

 

Yuta’s blood runs cold. His mother is still smiling sweetly at him like the words she’s just said aren’t going to give way to the biggest disaster of her son’s life. “...What did you find?” he asks with hesitation.

 

“The photo on the wall,” she continues, and Yuta heaves a sigh of relief that he hopes she doesn’t notice. “You’re not in it anymore.”

 

“I gave it to Johnny before we separated,” Yuta lies, and his mother’s eyes narrow. “I’m sorry. It was stupid, and I regret it.”

 

She stares at him for a long time before crossing her arms and frowning. “Well,” she says, clearly agitated, “as long as you’re sorry, I guess it’s okay.”

 

Yuta thanks her. She seems surprised.

 

“When can I go do things with Taeyong again?” Yuta asks, and she nods in thought.

 

“Soon. Maybe this week.”

 

Yuta kisses her cheek and retreats up the staircase. “Thank you,” he calls over his shoulder, and his mother laughs, not used to the affection.

 

He tells Taeyong later that evening to make plans on a Friday and that he’ll try his best to be there.

 

“Movie theater?” Taeyong asks, and Yuta shakes his head quickly. “Okay. Dinner? And then something after?”

 

Yuta nods, a slow, appreciative smile spreading across his face. Taeyong leans back in his chair like he’s had a job well done, and Yuta is _excited._

 

At least, for now.

 

* * *

 

Friday comes, and Yuta barely scrapes by with his mother’s permission to go out. “Thank you,” he grins. He kisses her cheek. “Thank you, I love you!”

 

“Be back by 9:30,” she reminds, and Yuta nods, opening the front door.

 

“See you, bye!”

 

And then he’s slipping out of the house, deaf to the farewell calls behind him. It’s not like he needs to hear them, anyway.

 

Taeyong is parked in the driveway, and his headlights blind Yuta for a long moment. He climbs into the car and rubs his eyes.

 

“Hey.” Yuta settles into the the seat and pulls the seatbelt over him. Taeyong waves and turns up the radio.

 

It’s some kind of rock song, from what Yuta can make out. It’s talking about rebellion. He tries to ignore the rush in his stomach as he thinks about how wonderful it would feel to rebel.

 

The place they end up eating is the same diner Yuta had taken Johnny to so many times before, and. when he tells Taeyong this, Yuta can pick out the exact second when he realizes what he’s done.

 

“It’s alright,” Yuta says, waving his hand. “At least I know what’s good on the menu.”

 

Taeyong looks meek, like he’s about to sink into the booth he’s seated in, and Yuta can’t figure out why. He blinks and pushes his menu to the corner of the table. “So,” Taeyong says, drumming his fingers on the table, “how did you like the party?”

 

“It was okay.” Yuta fidgets with the collar of his shirt. “I saw Ten.”

 

“Oh, he’s a really sweet guy. Did you guys talk for very long?”

 

Yuta shakes his head. “He finished off my beer for me, so I went to find you and bring you home.” He wrinkles his nose. “You were talking to a lizard.”

 

“It was a good lizard, screw you,” Taeyong frowns as Yuta manages to flag down a waiter at their table. They order, and in a few minutes, the table is crowded with plates and side dishes.

 

“My mom’s gonna kill me if she finds out how much we ordered,” Yuta mutters. He doesn’t intend for her to find out, though, so he figures he’s clear to eat the oversized portion of pancakes under his nose.

 

He finishes his dinner—or breakfast, he hasn’t decided yet—in record time. Taeyong is still trying his hardest to power through and eat everything on his plate, but he’s losing momentum too quickly for Yuta to believe that he’ll actually finish.

 

“You’re not gonna make it,” Yuta grins, tracing patterns in the dust on the window as Taeyong swallows a forkful of who-knows-what.

 

“Shut up, I _am,”_ Taeyong grounds out, and then he takes a deep breath, piles as much food onto his fork as he can, and practically inhales it all in the span of thirty seconds. His plate is clean soon after.

 

Yuta curls his lip. “You’re _disgusting.”_

 

“But I did it!” Taeyong leans back in his seat and manages a toothy smile. He slings a hand across his stomach. “I’m going to explode. God.”

 

“You deserve it.”

 

A balled-up napkin—courtesy of Taeyong—hits his face and falls into his lap. With a resigned sigh, Yuta picks it up and drops it onto the table.

 

Taeyong pushes himself out of his booth seat and pulls his wallet out, leaving a few bills on the edge of the table as well as a separate tip for the waiter. “Ready?”

 

“Where to next?”

 

“The movies, I guess.”

 

“I have to be back in half an hour,” Yuta says, checking his watch.

 

Taeyong rolls his eyes. “I figured you’d want to see your brother, idiot. And I want to get some popcorn.”

 

“I don’t even know if he’s working right now,” Yuta says as they leave the diner and step out onto the concrete pathway. It’s dark out, too dark to walk, but Taeyong treks on.

 

“Either way, I’m still getting popcorn. Besides, it’s just across the street. No harm in a walk.”

 

The movie theater is cold. The first thing Yuta feels is the rush of cool air down his spine when he walks in, and then he smells the popcorn, hears the fluorescent lights humming above him.

 

Takuya’s behind the counter, because of _course_ he is. His eyes are wide, and his lips are pursed, but then they twist into a smile. “Hey,” he says when Taeyong approaches the counter, Yuta trailing behind him. “What can I get you?”

 

Taeyong gets his popcorn, and Yuta gets a hug (and a firm scolding for not reading the letters Takuya had so carefully written for him).

 

When Taeyong drops him off, Yuta doesn’t bother greeting his parents. He races up to his room and unzips the seam of his duvet, pulling out the handful of letters and unfolding the mouths of their envelopes. He locks his door.

 

At his desk, in the dim light of the moon peering through his window, Yuta begins to read.

 

_Yuta, I’m writing this to tell you that I’m safe. I got a job, I have an apartment, and I’m not leaving anytime soon. I’m going to wait here until you’re old enough to leave the cult._

 

_As I write this, you’re ten years old, and the last time I saw you was when I burst into your room while you were studying to say that they were going to take me soon, that I was going to have to leave. You kept asking me why. I couldn’t find an answer fit for a ten year old. That I was kissing a boy, and that it was a crime in the eyes of the man you looked up to? That I was committing a horrible, horrible sin that was certain to condemn me to hell? No, none of those are appropriate for a kid._

 

_I hope you’re old enough now to understand that none of those things are wrong. They’re normal, I promise._

 

_One day, I will give this to you. By then, I’ll have a whole bunch of letters for you to read. I don’t even know what I’m trying to accomplish with this one, let alone any others I write later, but I’m still going to write them._

 

_I don’t know where or when I’ll give you these. Maybe the next time I see you? I could keep a little bag in my car with things I want to give you, and the next time I see you, I’ll just give you the bag. That would work, right?_

 

_I wonder how old you’ll be. Where you’ll be in life. Maybe you’ll be fourteen, or maybe sixteen, seventeen, eighteen and stuck in the cult. I wonder if you know what Song is doing. How evil he is. I stay up late at night thinking about the possibility that you sit compliant while the cult bends you to their will. I’ve come to the conclusion that you would never let them._

 

_I hope this letter finds you before you’re eighteen, Yuta, but if it hasn’t, then I’m so, so sorry. I don’t think I can rescue you if that’s already happened. Prepare for the worst._

 

Yuta swallows. He rests his head on his arms, which lie crossed over his desk. He closes his eyes.

 

It is June of his seventeenth birthday. In a little under five months, he will be eighteen, and he doesn’t know why that’s such a bad thing.

 

Five months. He has five months until whatever it is that Takuya fears finally happens.

 

Sighing, he figures it may be time to live a little.

 

* * *

 

“Ten wants to hang out,” Taeyong says, tone hushed under the current of Reverend Song’s voice. “Sometime soon, I think.”

 

Yuta tilts his head back. There’s probably someone staring at him right now, nose scrunched in fury at how he could care less about the sermon being preached, but he simply folds his arms across his chest and closes his eyes. “Okay. I’ll ask when I can go out.”

 

He doesn’t have to open his eyes to tell Taeyong is smiling.

 

“What are we gonna do?” he asks, and Taeyong hums.

 

“Not sure. I think he said something about the lake.”

 

Yuta unfolds his arms. Curls a hand around the back of his neck. Scratches the mark on his collarbone. “Sounds good,” he says, and something stirs in the pit of his stomach. Something that he hasn’t felt in a long while. His eyes snap open at the feeling, and a hand falls onto his belly, pressing there once, twice, three times to make sure it was real.

 

His eyes settle closed again. He pushes the sensation far from his mind.

 

* * *

 

The lake is nice, he thinks. He’s never been here before.

 

Ten’s on the dock with Taeyong, head thrown back in a laugh as Taeyong sips on a can of peach tea. Yuta stays back, shoulders pressed against the back of Taeyong’s car as he watches the scene unfold in front of him. The bitter part of him—jealous, hated by the rest of him—expects Ten to pull something, to lean his head onto Taeyong’s shoulder and flirt and take him away, too, but it doesn’t happen. Ten’s cackling at some joke that Taeyong has said, feet kicking the water beneath him carelessly.

 

Briefly, Yuta thinks that Ten has had more freedom than he ever will, and the jealous side of him leaps at the opportunity to indulge in more envy. He gives his mind the imaginary middle finger, and then he tells it to fuck off, smiling at the way the dock creaks under his feet as he takes great strides across it and sits between Taeyong and Ten. There’s still plenty of room between then three of them, but for some reason, Ten cozies up to him until their thighs press together.

 

“Look at the water,” Ten says quietly, pulling his legs up to his chest.

 

Moonlight ripples out across the lake. It catches in Ten’s eye when Yuta next looks at him, and he has to stop himself from smiling at the way Ten’s eyes shine silver. This isn’t a fair fight, the one that’s brewing between his head and his heart. It’ll be ready soon, at its prime, and he’s not sure he’ll like the outcome.

 

Something lands in the water. A bird, maybe. Beside him, Taeyong jumps when he hears the splashing water, pulling himself off balance. He falls halfway into the lake, and a loud laugh rips itself from Yuta’s throat. He claps a hand over his mouth, but the damage is done, and Taeyong is dangling from the dock, a frown settled onto his face.

 

“Try and pull yourself up!” Ten cackles next to him, and Yuta feels validated by the way he seems to be enjoying this just as much as Yuta. They’re in hysterics, now, as Taeyong kicks his legs desperately and tries his hardest to pull himself back up onto the dock. He gets as far as securing his fingers between two planks of wood before he loses his grip and slips into the lake.

 

Yuta’s stomach twists painfully with laughter as Taeyong flounders in the water, calling out for someone to get him out of the damned water. No one comes to his aid, though, and he’s forced to swim around the dock and back onto shore by himself. He’s sopping wet when he drags himself onto dry land. Dust turns to sand and then to mud, and it catches on his clothes when he stands. Yuta and Ten are still wailing on the dock, too caught up in their laughter to notice Taeyong hobbling back to his car.

 

“Where’re you going?” Yuta calls to him when he hears the sound of a car door opening.

 

“I’ve gotta go home and dry myself off. You can get home on your own, can’t you?”

 

“...Yeah,” Yuta says, remembering all the warnings his mother has told him about how it’s not safe at night, how it’s not alright to walk the streets alone when so many evil people roam those same roads in the late hours of the evening.

 

But his mother is a liar, he knows this much, and he assures himself with little faith that he’ll be alright.

 

“It’s okay, I can walk you back,” Ten says, his hand landing on Yuta’s shoulder. Yuta swallows his pride and nods. Taeyong’s car begins to drive off. Faintly, a love song that Yuta remembers from his childhood echoes into the night. Fitting.

 

He doesn’t catch most of what Ten says next. “But let’s stay here for a while longer,” Ten says when Yuta next tunes in.

 

Ten grabs his backpack, which lies behind them, and drags it onto his lap. He rummages through it for a few seconds. Yuta hears the sound of glass bottles clinking together and prepares for the worst.

 

It doesn’t come, though. Instead, there’s a bottle of God-knows-what in his hand, but it’s _definitely_ not alcohol, and Yuta furrows his eyebrows. This isn’t the Ten he expected. This Ten is considerate, he’s kind, and he seems generous.

 

“What is this?” Yuta asks, watching as Ten pulls a bottle opener from his bag and pops the top off his bottle. He catches the top as it flies through the air and tucks it into his pocket. Yuta makes a point of refusing to let his mind wander to what other things he might’ve used that bottle opener on.

 

“Try it,” Ten says. His fingers tighten around the neck of the bottle as he brings it to his mouth and takes a sip. His tongue runs over his lips when he swallows. “It’s good.”

 

He looks to Yuta with an encouraging smile, and before Yuta realizes what he’s doing, his hand points the bottle towards Ten, who knocks the cap off and shoves it in his pocket. Yuta raises the bottle to his lips, and then he takes a swig.

 

The first thing he thinks is that whatever this is, it’s incredibly sweet. He likes it. A lot.

 

“What is it?” Yuta asks again, taking another sip of the mystery liquid. The part of the drink that’s spilled over the rim has run dry from the air now. It’s sticky and syrupy on Yuta’s lips when he takes a drink, and he finds himself sucking on his bottom lip just to get the taste away. Something sugary sweet burns in the back of his mouth.

 

“Cream soda,” Ten says, rolling his shoulders back. “It’s good, isn’t it?”

 

“Really good,” Yuta says. He resumes tonguing at his bottom lip and the viscid stain left there and tries to ignore the way Ten is staring at him.

 

“I’ve told you were pretty before, right?” Ten drops his half-empty bottle onto the dock and kicks his legs back and forth. Beneath him, the water bends to the air from each kick. “At the party.”

 

“You were drunk.”

 

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t telling the truth.”

 

If Yuta listened hard enough, he’d hear everything around him: the frogs croaking, the crickets and cicadas wailing, the water lapping at the shore. But he doesn’t. All he hears—and all he _wants_ to hear, really—is the tremble of Ten’s breath as it clouds in front of him.

 

“I meant it,” Ten says, long overdue after a lapse of silence. “I was telling the truth. You really are pretty.”

 

Yuta takes a drink from the bottle in his hand. It’s more bearable this time. “I still don’t know what to say to that.”  


“Don’t say anything. Just know that I’m right.”

 

Yuta nods. He has nothing else to say, so he knocks the bottle back and swallows as much of the soda as he can. The aftertaste hits just as Ten stands to leave, and he thinks that it’s funny, in a way, how disgustingly sweet it is, both the drink and this night. He hates it.

 

“C’mon,” Ten says, picking at the rip in his jeans. He offers a hand to Yuta. “I’ll take you home.”

 

And there’s that feeling again, hot and full in his stomach. It _has_ to mean something. He’s not sure if he likes it or not. It persists even when he’s back home, lying on his back with his eyes trained on the patterns carved into his ceiling.

 

Before he falls asleep, his hands find the stuffed bear lying deep beneath his blankets and wrap around it, pulling the toy close to his chest. The letters are still hidden inside his duvet. He promises himself that he’ll read another in the morning.

 

* * *

 

_Yuta,_

 

_I’m thinking about that time we went on vacation for the first time. To Cape Verona, to the beach where Mom grew up. I hope you guys still have the photo of us on the beach together hanging on the wall of the hallway._

 

_There was something off about that vacation. All my friends told me that vacations were supposed to be a fun time for everyone. It seemed like Mom and Dad were the only ones enjoying themselves, though. Do you remember when we tried to get ice cream that one day because it was hot? Mom slapped the cups out of our hands before we could try them. I mentioned it to one of my friends at work and he told me that’s not normal._

 

_I guess it’s not, now that I think about it._

 

_And do you remember when you tried surfing and came back with sand all over you? Mom hit you when she saw what a mess you’d made. I didn’t stop her. I should have. I’m your older brother, for God’s sake._

 

_I’m sorry to bring up these memories. I know they probably hurt. They hurt me, at least. But I don’t know if you know that they’re wrong, that real parents would never treat us like that. Can you imagine what it would be like having parents who loved and cared about us? Dad was probably the closest thing, but… The day that they took me away, he didn’t do anything to stop them, and I still haven’t forgotten. I haven’t forgiven him, either. It’s the same thing I did, letting Mom hit you, but still… He’s worse. He should’ve known better. I was young and naive._

 

_I should stop making excuses for myself. It was wrong, and I know that, and I’m very sorry. I should’ve stopped her._

 

_I hope you’re doing alright when you read this. I love you a lot._

 

_(Do I have to sign these? You know who they’re from._

 

_I love you, always. I’ll see you one day.)_

 

 

* * *

 

_Yuta,_

 

_I don’t know why I started this letter. I just hate not knowing whether you’re safe. I hope you’re okay right now._

 

_-Takuya._

 

* * *

 

_Dear Yuta,_

 

_This city is old and fucking freezing and I have this awful feeling that I’m never going to see you again._

 

 _-T._  


 

* * *

 

_Yuta,_

 

_I cleaned out the spare room in my apartment. It’s ready whenever you are._

 

_Right now, you’re fifteen, and it’ll be years before I see you again, but I made a promise a long time ago that I’d always wait. I don’t intend on breaking that promise anytime soon._

 

_Be safe. I love you. I haven’t said that enough in these letters._

 

_-Takuya._

 

* * *

 

“Do you have any plans for your birthday?” his father asks. His hands are wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee, and the smell of it is strong even though he’s sitting far away..

 

Yuta pauses from his work. It’s not like the computer’s going to load anything anytime soon. “That’s in a couple of months. I don’t have to worry about it yet, right?”

 

“Not just yet. Soon, though.” His father sets his mug on a table and folds his hands in his lap. “Do you remember Sakura?”

 

Yuta blinks. No, he doesn’t, and his father should expect that of him.

 

“Japanese,” his father supplies helpfully. “Pretty eyes. She’s short.”

 

Yuta snaps his fingers and nods, eyes widening. “Yeah! Yeah, Miyawaki Sakura. I’ve seen her at Church a few times. Why?”

 

His father pulls a blanket over his legs and leans back in his chair. “I spoke with her father yesterday.”

 

“About what?”

 

“Nothing too important,” he says.

 

Yuta doesn’t believe him, but that’s nothing new.

 

* * *

 

The next time he sees Ten, he’s at another party under the guise of staying at Taeyong’s for the night. He feels sorry for his poor parents, blindly believing everything he tells them without even the slightest proof that he’s being truthful.

 

Ten’s drunk. Shitfaced. Absolutely _wasted._ And as soon as he catches wind of who’s at the party, he makes a home for himself in the corner of the couch, pressed into Yuta’s side. His breath fans Yuta’s shoulder. It reeks of alcohol, and it’s driving Yuta insane to have Ten this close to him.

 

“How many times have I told you’re pretty?” Ten slurs, and Yuta would very much like to forget the maxim that a drunk man’s words are a sober man’s thoughts. “Does this make three?”

 

“Depends,” Yuta says lightly, relaxing further into the couch. It’s old and musty and he doesn’t even want to _begin_ thinking about all the nasty things that have happened here, but it’s comfortable at the very least.

 

“On what?”  


Yuta doesn’t answer. He doesn’t even have one.

 

“Hey,” Ten says. His voice is probably louder than it should be, judging by the couple of people who turn their heads to him as he points to a keg in the corner of the room. “Hey, is that keg empty?”

 

“Yes,” Yuta lies. “Even if it wasn’t, I wouldn’t let you near it.”

 

“I’m gonna go check,” Ten mumbles, pushing up and off the couch. Yuta sighs, resigns himself to his newfound babysitting duty, and loops his arms around Ten’s waist. He pulls the younger back onto the couch.

 

Ten doesn’t land on the couch. He lands on Yuta’s lap, and he’s suddenly much happier about his new situation than he was before. “Hey,” he says, voice low, and Yuta sighs.

 

“Hi, Ten. You’ve been sitting here for at least fifteen minutes, but hello again.” He can’t believe this. There’s no way his night can possibly go like this.

 

Ten leans into him. “You’re comfortable,” he says, dropping his head onto Yuta’s shoulder. “Huh. You smell good, too.”

 

Yuta mutters out a _thanks_ and tilts his head back. The couch cushion dips beneath the weight of his head, and Ten squirms in his lap. “Are you going to move?”

 

“No. I want to go and check on that keg, but you’re too comfortable. I’m gonna stay here for a while.” His hand curls into a fist around Yuta’s jacket. “You’d better not leave. I don’t think I can find anyone prettier than you here.”

 

Yuta smiles.

 

Off to his side, someone calls out, “Ten, is that your new boy toy?”

 

Ten laughs into Yuta’s collar.  “Fuck off! He’s not mine.”

 

“Yours?” Yuta asks, grinning up at the ceiling. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

“He thinks we’re dating,” Ten murmurs. “We’re not.”  


“We’re not,” Yuta says. “But you think we are.”

 

“Not true!” Ten hits Yuta’s chest lightly with his fist. “I don’t think we’re dating.”

 

“Do you call all the other boys pretty?”

 

“You don’t like it?” Ten pulls back, bracing himself on a cushion. Yuta can feel him staring, but he closes his eyes and listens to distant laughter to calm his heart. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”

 

Yuta laughs. “I don’t mind. It’s awkward not knowing what to say, yeah, but it doesn’t weird me out or anything like that.”

 

Ten hums and leans back into Yuta’s chest. “Do you wanna leave?”

 

“What’s your definition of _leave?”_ Yuta asks, lifting his head to stare at the boy lying in his lap. “Because it seems like everyone else thinks that’s secret code for sex.”  


“No, I just want to go to the lake. C’mon, I’ll drive.”

 

“You’re drunk, Ten. But let’s go.” Yuta pushes Ten off his lap and stands, holding his hand out. Ten grabs it and pulls himself up onto his feet.

 

Ten’s car is beaten down and the windows don’t roll. Ten shrugs and apologizes when Yuta tries to roll down his window for fresh air. The car ends up being awful to drive, and Ten has to navigate the stick while Yuta steers. They pass the cemetery on the way.

 

“That’s where they buried my brother,” Yuta says, jerking a thumb towards the cemetery as they drive by it. Ten’s eyes grow wide.

 

“I’m sorry,” he says. His voice is quiet, like he actually cares.

 

Yuta laughs. “He’s not actually dead. Everyone thinks he is.”

 

“What?” Ten cocks his head. “Pull over.”

 

He pulls onto the side of the road.

 

“Explain,” Ten says, unbuckling his seatbelt and pressing himself against the car door. “No, really, explain.”

 

“My brother got kicked out, and everybody got told he died. His supposed grave is right here.”

 

There’s a long pause before Ten next speaks. Finally, though, after what feels like forever, he pushes his car door open and steps out onto the grass. “Come on,” he says, and Yuta shrugs.

 

The air is cold. Too cold to be outside without at least a jacket, actually, but Yuta doesn’t regret it. He’s glad it’s late, because the moonlight hits Ten’s face at just the right angle and wraps around the curve of his chin. It casts a shadow on the other half of his face, and Yuta thinks he should take a picture, make the memory last.

 

And then Ten sprints towards the gates of the cemetery and jumps onto them without hesitation, pulling himself up onto the peak and jumping over. He lands on the other side with a loud thud.

 

“What are you doing?!”

 

Ten saunters towards the door and pulls an army knife from his pocket. He jams it inside the lock and tries to unlock the gate from the inside, but it doesn’t budge.

 

“Jump over,” Ten calls. “We’re gonna visit your brother’s grave.”

 

Yuta supposes he’s got nothing to lose. He runs to the gate and pulls himself up, onto, and over the gate. Ten’s car lies abandoned on the other side, and Yuta thinks that this’ll make the perfect horror movie plot one day.

 

Ten bends down to the ground and plucks a few flowers out of the ground. “You good?” he asks, pressing the flowers into Yuta’s palm. They’re pretty, but Yuta doesn’t recognize their name.

 

Yuta nods. “Last time I was here was when they buried him. I guess they just buried the coffin.”

 

He doesn’t remember any tears from that day. Fitting, he guesses, considering what he was punished for in the first place.

 

“Do you remember where the grave is?” Ten’s itching at his wrists now, fiddling with the watch around it. He’s sobered up since leaving the party.

 

Yuta swallows and nods, grabbing Ten by the wrist and leading him through the rows and rows of graves. He doesn’t even notice that Ten’s fingers slip into the claw of his own until they’ve stopped in front of a grave reading Takuya’s name. He drops the flowers in his hand onto the top of the grave, and they balance well on the marble.

 

A bouquet of yellow flowers lies an inch or two away from the grave. Tulips, Yuta thinks. Maybe roses. He checks the card tagged onto the flowers and shudders as the reads the name.

 

_You had so much potential, Takuya. It’s a shame we had to let you go._

 

_-Song_

 

Yuta clenches his teeth and gently lifts one of the flowers up by its bud. It’s soft and pliant, meaning it’s relatively new, meaning _Song has been here recently._

 

“The man who left these is the man who got him kicked out in the first place,” Yuta says, dropping to his knees next to the grave. The flower in his hand drops onto the ground, its petals now crumpled and loose. Yuta must’ve clenched his fist too hard.

 

“Hand me the flowers,” Ten says, and Yuta raises an eyebrow but does it anyway, grabbing one by its stem and slipping it between Ten’s fingers. “Do you want them gone?”

 

Yuta nods.

 

Ten pulls a lighter from his pocket and sets fire to the flowerbud. It takes a few seconds to catch the flame, but when it does, it erupts into flames, burning fast and furiously in the dark. Yuta feels his heartbeat pick up just as Ten holds out his other hand and says, “Another.”

 

They continue like that, lighting flowers with one another like they’re burning candles until finally the whole bouquet burns brightly, brilliantly, beautifully in Ten’s hands. The petals dry and blacken until the warm yellow color is no more, until the buds are nothing more than shrivelled shells of what they used to be, until Yuta feels a rush of _something_ that has convinces him that _this_ is living, this is what he’s been missing his entire life. Nothing has made his heart race quite like this, and it still pounds even when Ten drops the blackened stems beside the grave.

 

He realizes too late that it’s not the flowers that make his heart race, not really. But right now, with an ecstatic grin on his face that matches Ten’s, he doesn’t really care.

 

Ten stands and retreats towards the gate. Yuta moves to follow him, but stops when Ten stops to call over his shoulder, “Just wait there! I’ll be back in a minute!”

 

He comes back with a backpack. Inside are four bottles, all ice cold, that Ten dumps onto the ground haphazardly.

 

“Take your pick,” Ten says, grabbing one of the bottles. He uncaps it and takes a swig.

 

“What are they?”

 

“One’s cream soda, the other’s Corona.”

 

“That’s alcohol, right?” It’s dark, but Yuta can still make out a label on one of the bottles that definitely doesn’t say _cream soda._

 

Ten nods. “You can do whatever, but I brought my own beer in case the stuff at the party was shitty. Turns out they had vodka, though.”

 

“And the cream soda?”

 

“Just in case I ran into you, duh.”

 

Yuta swears under his breath. He’s stupid to take the bottle of Corona in his hands, and he’s stupid to let Ten open the bottle and pocket the cap like he did at the lake. He’s an idiot to take a gulp of the bottle, to savor the taste on his tongue, the rush that eventually soothes his mind, the numbness that covers his lips.

 

He’s happy right now. The feeling isn’t familiar, but he’s elated, he’s overjoyed, and he doesn’t even have any real reason to be. Nothing’s ever made him feel this much before, and to Yuta, that’s a realization that he doesn’t really like.

 

“You told me I was in love with Johnny, once,” he says.

 

Ten turns his head to face him. “I guess. But I don’t think I was right. The way you reacted was proof.”

 

“Yeah, I don’t think you were right either,” Yuta says. He takes another drink of the Corona and hopes with all his heart that he’ll get tipsy soon. “I don’t think he made me happy. I’m happy right now.”

 

“What else makes you happy?” Ten asks. It’s not meant to be a loaded question, but it is, and Yuta has to take another drink before he’s ready to answer it.

 

“You, for starters,” he shrugs, lips quirking at the way Ten inhales sharply. “My brother. Taeyong, sometimes. I guess that’s about it.”

 

“Really?” Ten drops his head onto Yuta’s shoulder. “I thought I annoyed you. And besides, we’ve only talked… How many times now? After Johnny, I think this makes three times?”

 

“Yeah, but you’re nice to talk to.” Yuta leans his head back and closes his eyes. He feels like he’s back at party, back when Ten dozed in his lap and when Yuta closed his eyes with his head against the old couch cushion.

 

Ten’s car is still just as awful when he drives Yuta back home. Not home, really, because it’s Taeyong’s house, but Yuta considers that more of a home than the one he sleeps in.

 

“You have my number, right?” Ten asks as Yuta steps onto the concrete. He’s about to shut the door, but swings it back open to talk to Ten.

 

He shakes his head. “I don’t even have a phone. I have a disposable phone, but that’s it.”  


“Okay, well, give me your hand.”

 

Ten digs through his console and emerges with a ballpoint pen. He etches a phone number into Yuta’s palm. “There,” he says, sounding proud of his work, “now you’ve got my number. Call me if you need anything.”

 

“Why would I…?” Yuta trails off as a frown forms on Ten’s face.

 

“Dunno. I’ve got a feeling that something bad is gonna happen sometime soon. See you,” Ten says, motioning for Yuta to close the door. It slams, and the car creaks loudly with the sudden force.

 

Taeyong’s key isn’t under the doormat like it usually is, which is strange, because Taeyong had mentioned that the doormat was the key’s hiding place ever since his house had been built. Yuta tries picking the lock with a twig he finds on the ground, but it doesn’t work, and Ten is long gone by now.

 

Yuta rubs his arms and begins the walk home. It’s colder than usual, colder than it should be in the middle of July, but he doesn’t mind. The house is dark when he walks inside, and he’s careful not to wake anyone when he creeps up the stairs. He falls asleep to a movie in his head, one of flowers and flames and revenge and rebellion. And as much Yuta should hate it, he adores it.

 

* * *

 

“We have to stop meeting like this,” Ten says. A wet patch of beer soaks the front of his shirt, but the bodies around him don’t stop to help him.

 

Yuta grins and tries to keep a head over the crowd. “I only came with Taeyong because he said it’s a once-in-a-lifetime kind of party. And I’ve lost him in the crowd already, so I think I’m leaving soon.”

 

Ten’s eyes blow wide. His mouth is open wide enough to worry Yuta. “No, look! I’m here! There’s _beer!_ And the pool’s open! Taeyong was right, it really _is_ a good night for a party. Yoonoh’s parents are out of town, it’s warm enough to swim, and I’m here. Live a little.”

 

He passes his Solo cup to Yuta, who purses his lips.

  
“If you don’t wanna drink it, I’ll find some water or juice or something. I know where Yoonoh keeps his stash.”

 

“Stash? That sounds worse than whatever this is.” Yuta sloshes around the drink before bringing it to his lips and drinking. It’s better than what he’s had before. Granted, that’s not a wide variety, but this still beats out both. It’s something fruity, something that has him taking huge gulps that make Ten force the cup away from him.

 

“Not too fast,” Ten says, then frowns at Yuta. “Don’t pout. You’re too cute for me to say no.”

 

“Can I have it back?”

 

Ten sighs. “Fine, throw up or whatever. Just don’t blame me when you’re puking into the swimming pool.”

 

“I wonder if people really do that,” Yuta wonders aloud. He takes another drink, and Ten laughs. Some of the beer dribbles off his chin and splatters onto his collar.

 

“Do what?” Ten asks, reaching forward to wipe Yuta’s chin with his index finger. He pops the finger into his mouth like it’s not a big deal at all, and Yuta feels his soul leave his body.

 

“Throw up in the pool.”  


“Not this one,” Ten says, glancing warily at the pool. It’s lit up pink right now, strobing between fuchsia and some bubblegum color that hurts to look at. “Yoonoh would break somebody’s neck if they threw up in this.”

 

“I’m gonna do it just to spite him,” Yuta says, and Ten snorts.

 

Yuta takes one look at the grin on Ten’s face and downs his drink. He’ll need it if he wants to get through the night.

  
“Hey, somebody catch that!” a voice calls over the music and the buzz of the crowd. Yuta hears peals of laughter, and then the sound of something splashing, and then he watches in awe as a dark bottle sinks to the bottom of the pool.

 

He pulls his jacket off.

 

“What are you doing,” Ten says as Yuta shoves the jacket into Ten’s arms, secures his beer in Ten’s hands, and takes one last look at Ten’s face before turning to face the pool. “Yuta, no, _stop—”_

 

And then the music stops, the crowd quiets, and the pressure in his ears builds and builds until Yuta can’t hear anything but his own muffled movements as he glides through the water. The chlorine burns his eyes.

 

His hands close around something dark and smooth, and he kicks off the bottom of the pool, rocketing back up to the air. There’s a split second of silence when he breaks the surface wherein the only sound anyone can hear is Yuta gasping for breath and splashing through the pool.

 

“Got the beer,” Yuta says, smiling up goofily at Ten, who rolls his eyes with a tired grin. He leans down and takes the beer from Yuta, then passes it to someone in the crowd.

 

“Come on, dumbass, let’s get you dried off.”

 

The alcohol seems to kick in right about then, because the next thing he knows, he’s in dry, warm clothes that don’t belong to him. He’s buckled into the passenger’s seat of a car that he doesn’t recognize, and his hair drips cold water onto the seatbelt. His memory is fuzzy and clouded, but he can faintly remember hands undressing him, drying him, and pulling dry clothes onto him.

 

More importantly, though, he remembers murmurs—quiet, warm murmurs on the back of his neck. He remembers soft, hesitant lips on the peak of his shoulder. From there, though, he remembers nothing.

 

Yuta looks to his side and notices Ten. He’s quiet as he drives, mouth curled into a frown. Yuta wants to wipe it away, to turn it into a smile.

 

The engine hums lowly under the beat of whatever’s playing on Ten’s phone. The radio doesn’t work, so his phone lies in the cupholder as a sort of makeshift speaker. The song is slow and sweet and the lyrics are far too personal for Yuta to enjoy the song. There are post-it notes strung across the dashboard, all inscribed with intricate little doodles of lips and eyes and noses, and Yuta wants to pluck one from its spot to examine it. He decides against it and lets his raised hand fall to his side.

 

“You’re awake,” Ten says when he pulls into Yuta’s driveway. “I thought I was gonna have to drag you inside.”

 

Yuta grins. “Not quite yet. Is this your last stop?”

 

Ten nods. “I still haven’t sobered up yet. I’m gonna go home and sleep it off after this.”

 

“Alright, well,” Yuta pushes the car door open. “See you.”

 

Ten waves goodbye, and then the door shuts. Yuta glances at his hand. Ten’s phone number remains inked into his palm, smudged but still just barely readable. He smiles at it, then shoves his hand in his pocket and approaches his doorstep.

 

The lights are on when Yuta walks inside. His father is in the living room, made comfortable in his armchair.

 

“You’re late,” he says, his tone somewhere halfway between disappointed and accusatory. “Why is your hair wet?”

 

“Taeyong and I went to the lake,” Yuta lies. He runs a hand through his hair, and sure enough, it’s still sopping wet. “I fell in.”

 

“You told me you were going to the movies, Yuta. Which is it?”

 

“We got bored of the movie, and I wanted to go to the lake.”

 

“You’re not supposed to be outside this late at night. But never mind that.” his father rises from his chair and wraps Yuta in a hug. “I have a surprise.”

 

Yuta doesn’t like where this is going. “Tell me.”

 

“I was saving this for your birthday, but I’m worried you won’t be able to stay pure until then, so Sakura’s father and I have made arrangements to speed everything up.”

 

“What does Sakura have to do with any of this?” he asks, but he already knows, and he hopes to God he’s wrong.

 

His father beams, “You’re getting married to her!”

 

A cold numbness spreads in Yuta’s chest, and there goes that familiar weight in his stomach again, sending him keeling from unbalance. He stumbles away from his father. “No,” he says, barely above a whisper. “No, no, you _can’t._ I won’t.”

 

“Why aren’t you glad? This is the next big step in your life.”

 

“I’ve never even had a full conversation with her! What the hell are you thinking?”

 

“Don’t swear at me.” his father’s voice is low and gravelly. “You know better than that. I raised you to be grateful, so you’ll be grateful for this, damnit!”

 

Tears threaten to spill onto Yuta’s cheeks, and he sniffs, wiping his eyes furiously with the back of his hand. “This isn’t right,” Yuta whispers. “You can’t do this.”

 

“Go up to the attic and pray,” his father says, arms crossed. His face is red and twisted. “You know that you’re supposed to honor the wishes of your father and mother.”

 

“Not like that,” Yuta calls, fleeing up the stairs. His voice breaks as he passes his room, as he passes the picture from which he and Takuya are torn, and it’s far too late for realizations, but he understands the picture now.

 

The attic door slams behind him. Hurriedly, Yuta lights a candle and throws himself onto his knees in front of the painting. He reaches inside, his hand closing around a slip of paper and a disposable phone.

 

He presses the phone number on the paper into the buttons of the phone. It rings, and Yuta grows impatient and frantic as he waits.

 

The phone cuts to voicemail. _“Hello, this is Takuya. Please leave your name, number, and reason for calling, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Thanks!”_

 

“Come get me,” Yuta breathes into the receiver, voice shaking. “Please, Takuya, they’re going to marry me off, I _can’t—”_ he pauses. Takes a deep breath. Swallows the taste of bile and keeps speaking. “Please. I’m in the attic right now. I don’t know if I’ll be up here for much longer, but I think he’ll keep me in the house.”

 

He drops the call and glances at the smudged ink on his palm. It’s worth a shot, he guesses, and he dials the numbers into the phone hurriedly.

 

“Hello?” Ten answers right as the third ring begins. “Yuta, we just saw each other less than an hour ago. And didn’t you say you didn’t have a phone?”

 

“Disposable,” Yuta says, finds the words tumbling out of him faster than he can think about them. “Listen, I need help, I need—”

 

The door flies open and hits Yuta in the back. He cries out in pain.

 

“I heard what you did. Have you learned your— _what are you doing?”_ his mother stands seething in the doorway, and she quickly snatches the phone out of Yuta’s grip and throws it onto the ground. She raises her foot to stomp it, and Yuta lets out a cry, knocking her aside and cradling the phone in his hands.

 

“The movie theater,” Yuta gasps, tears beginning to stream down his face as he babbles frantically into the phone. “Tomorrow, go to the movie theater, ask for Takuya, tell him I’m in danger. Tell him to help me. Ten, please, _please_ tell him, _please—”_

 

His mother rips the phone from his hands and hurtles it towards the wall. It explodes into little plastic bits and pieces that shower onto Yuta. There’s a dent where it had hit now, and the paint is chipped all around it.

 

“You _ingrate,”_ his mother hisses, pushing him into the painting. He rubs his arms and backs up into the wall. Not even the candle’s glow reaches here, in a corner adorned with cobwebs and dead matches. “You’ll stay here till tomorrow morning, and then we’ll see if you have anything to say for yourself.”

 

The door slams shut, and the force of it snuffs out the candle. Yuta wipes his tears away with a shaking hand and creeps to the door, listening as the outside lock fastens and clicks. His mother retreats down the hallway, then pauses. Yuta presses his ear to the door to listen more closely.

 

He hears the screeching of tires first, then the slamming of a car door, then finally heavy footsteps pounding onto the porch. Something hammers onto the front door downstairs—fists, probably. Loud shouting roars faintly from downstairs, and suddenly, Yuta hears the door swing open.

 

“What the _hell—”_ his father begins, but soon trails off as the footsteps rush inside the house. “Who are you?!”

 

“Yuta!” someone calls, loud enough for Yuta to hear it clearly. Ten, he realizes. It’s Ten, and he’s come back for him. “Yuta, where are you?!”

 

“Ten!” Yuta shouts, pounding on the attic door.

 

Something thuds. His mother screams. The front door slams, but familiar fists soon return to pounding on it.

 

“Stay away from my house!” his father roars. Yuta hears faint sobbing and thinks that _he_ should be the one crying, not his mother. She doesn’t even care about him.

 

Yuta curls into himself and leans against the door. He closes his eyes and prepares himself for a long night.

 

Takuya had told him to prepare for the worst. He could not possibly have meant this.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> btw, cape verona isn't a real actual place and i absolutely 100% made it up. i got inspo for it from the fact that this story is titled after a line of romeo and juliet which is. yknow. set in verona. so
> 
> i hope you enjoyed!!! im sorry for the ending it had to be done press F
> 
> stay safe drink water and remember that i love you!
> 
> -daniel 052619
> 
>  
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/markbfs)
> 
>  
> 
> [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/markdery)


	4. how long will i bleed?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuta learns to love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title is from [grave digger](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ImyqYYSSQIU) by matt maeson
> 
>  
> 
> [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/67MNYZDoXrjwcET3cMg4Zh)

The attic is dark in the morning. Yuta’s burned through an entire matchbox by then, and he miserably huddles into himself to conserve warmth.

 

He can hear his parents moving around downstairs. Silverware clinks against coffee mugs, and the stovetop burns loudly in the kitchen. Yuta tries to sleep to the sound of the birds singing outside, but their chirping is too loud. He covers his ears and sighs.

 

From what he can tell, it’s still early in the morning. Assuming Ten has done what he’s been instructed to do, Takuya should be here by the end of the day.

 

His assumptions prove correct when the floor creaks outside the attic and the lock trapping him clicks. The attic door flies open, and a hand closes around his wrist, pulling him up onto his feet. Yuta stumbles through the doorway and glances up to meet his savior.

 

“Takuya,” Yuta breathes, eyes wide.

 

“Not a word,” Takuya says, creeping forward to the stairs. He checks over the room, then pulls Yuta down the stairs, skipping two at a time.

 

They’re nearly out the front door when they’re caught.

 

“What are you doing here?” Yuta’s mother shrieks from her chair in the living room. “Get out!”

 

His father rushes into the room, spots Yuta, and makes a mad dash towards him. Takuya throws the front door open and sprints out with Yuta on his heels.

 

“The car, get in the car!” Takuya shouts, pointing to the car parked on the curb. The backseat door is hanging open, and in the driver’s seat sits Ten, eyes trained intently on Yuta.

 

Takuya dives into the car, and Yuta is halfway inside the back seat when a hand grabs his wrist and violently jerks him back. He cries out as pain curls around his wrist .

 

“You’re not escaping that easily,” his father hisses, moving to drag him back inside the house.

 

Takuya emerges from the car and approaches his father with a wild look in his eyes. He draws back his fist and swings it, striking his father in the jaw.

 

His father reels, gripping Yuta’s wrist even tighter as he pushes him inside the house.

 

 _“Soon,_ Yuta!” Takuya shouts as the door slams in Yuta’s face.

 

Tires screech. The car speeds away, and Yuta is dragged into the kitchen and thrown into a chair pulled up to the table. Heart racing, he steadies himself in his seat and watches as his father rummages through the cabinets for something.

 

He pulls a box from the cupboard and rips it open. Tiny packages of food scatter across the floor, and his father picks one up and slams it on the table in front of Yuta. “Eat.”

 

Yuta picks up the package with shaking hands and splits the plastic open. It’s a granola bar, and he hurriedly finishes it off to please his father.

 

A hand closes around the collar of his shirt, and suddenly, Yuta is on his feet, being pulled toward the front door again.

 

“Are you letting me go?” Yuta asks, struggling against his father’s grip as they step outside. The sun beats down on his bare face, and the unexpected heat sends a shiver down his spine.

 

His father doesn’t answer.

 

They walk around the side of the house and stop at an old glass door that Yuta had once been told never to open. It’s so dirty that Yuta can’t even see what’s inside, but once his father pulls a keyring from his pocket and unlocks it, Yuta gulps.

 

There’s nothing inside. It’s a dusty basement with nothing more than old appliances crammed into the corner.

 

“You’ll stay here until you’ve learned your lesson,” his father says, pushing him into the basement. He falls onto the floor and yelps as his wrist hits the cold concrete at an angle that causes his muscles to burn.

 

The door slams shut. Above him, the floorboards creak with the sudden force that jolts through them. His father locks the glass door once more, and Yuta crawls to peer through it as his father retreats back into the house.

 

There’s no one here. If he strains his neck, he can see the top of the sky, but almost everything is blocked by the tall bushes lining the border between his house and the neighbors’.

 

Yuta raises a hand to touch the glass. When he pulls away, his fingerprint is covered in dust. He lies down and stares up at the ceiling, the floorboards above him, the light that peeks through the cracks between the boards.

 

He closes his eyes and prays. It’s a short prayer, one where he asks for forgiveness and for _help_ and something to keep him warm. Halfway through the prayer, he realizes there’s nobody really listening, that his words are empty and no one is going to be back for him anytime soon.

 

“Maybe I should stop trying to believe in all this,” he says aloud, casting sins to a god with deaf ears. “Maybe you’re not real. Maybe I was wrong.”

 

He folds his arms across his chest. “I don’t think there’s much left for me to say,” he says, then realizes something obvious. “If I’m saying all this, you should kill me, right? Isn’t that what the Reverend said you’d do?”

 

Yuta opens his eyes once more and blinks up at the floorboards. His parents’ shadows move across the cracks, and he clenches his fists furiously. “Do it,” he says, voice hollow. His eyes fall shut again.

 

He waits.

 

God doesn’t smite him. Somehow, Yuta thinks that may be worse than if he really had.

 

* * *

 

His mother arrives sometime after the sun begins to set with her arms filled with things she should not know about. She spreads her arms as soon as Yuta sees her, a wide smile staining her face. Everything in her arms tumbles to the ground.

 

She bends to pick up something and pulls a lighter out of her pocket, mouthing something on the other side of the door. Yuta presses himself close to the glass as he realizes that she holds Takuya’s bear in her hands, and there’s a lighter pressed up against its ear.

 

“No!” he shrieks, pounding his fists on the door as hard as he can. He doesn’t manage to break the glass. “Don’t do it! _Don’t!”_

 

She strikes her thumb down the side of the lighter. The bear’s ear catches fire, and the pounding of Yuta’s fists turns to punctuated smacks, each one highlighting the the stuttering of his breath as he watches the stuffed bear begin to char. Hot tears drip down onto the concrete, but he doesn’t care enough to wipe them away. Dust covers his palms, and he slides down the door until he’s on his hands and knees just as his mother drops the burned bear to the ground and stomps out the fire.

 

The damage is already done by then. She picks up a bundle of papers, and Yuta recognizes it as a stack of Takuya’s letters, worn at the creases where they’ve been folded. Yuta’s tears begin to fall more quickly now, and he lets out a wail and returns to pounding on the door as his mother lights the corner of a page.

 

“You shouldn’t have had these in the first place,” she says, loud enough for Yuta to hear her muffled voice through the glass and over his own sobs.

 

She gathers the charred remains of Yuta’s belongings and leaves. Yuta is still crying by the time the sun fully sets, chest hollow and eyes raw from tears.

 

* * *

 

It’s two days before Yuta gets another sign of life. It’s pitch black inside the basement, the moon barely visible even through the window.

 

He’s shivering, curled into a filthy corner in a vain attempt to conserve heat. His arms are numb from the cold, and the air he breathes is stale and smells of the exposed wood that poses as a pathetic wall. He’s hungry. He’s so, _so_ hungry.

 

One knock sounds through the basement. Then two. Then three.

 

Yuta scrambles to his feet and stands in front of the door as quickly as he can. The dark figures behind the glass aren’t his parents. They’re taller, male, and well-built.

 

“Stand back!” one calls, and Yuta swallows, backing out of sight.

 

Several thuds cause the door to cave in by a few inches. Dust from the ground stirs into huge clouds, gathering in Yuta’s eyes and drawing irritated tears from them.

 

The glass breaks. A leg now protrudes from the door, and it recoils in pain as blood begins to seep through jeans that are now terribly torn. The leg kicks through the glass agonizingly slowly, and Yuta crawls to the broken panel and gets down on his hands and knees. Glass digs into his palms, but he’s too preoccupied to care.

 

“Crawl through!” one of the figures calls to him, and Yuta recognizes the voice as Ten’s, clear and loud and tempting.

 

He doesn’t try to shield his arms from the jagged glass. He launches himself halfway through, then struggles to make it through the rest of the way. Strong arms grab his wrists and pull him completely through, and Yuta cries out as he falls onto his stomach and the grass digs into the fresh cuts there.

 

“You alright?” Ten asks, offering a hand that Yuta takes gratefully.

 

“Yeah. Thanks.”

 

He turns to the other figure. Takuya stands beside him, tending poorly to his wounded leg.

 

Yuta takes a second to celebrate internally before he throws his arms around Takuya’s neck and pulls his brother close.

 

“Missed me?” Takuya asks. Yuta can tell he has a shit-eating grin.

 

“Fucker,” Yuta mutters into the crook of his neck. “You actually came.”

 

“Of course I did,” Takuya says, voice softening. A hand falls onto the small of Yuta’s back. “Why wouldn’t I?”

 

“I didn’t think I was worth the trouble.” Yuta pulls away and steadies himself on Takuya’s shoulders. A frown etches itself onto his face. “Mom… She burned your letters. And your bear. I’m really sorry.”

 

“Why are you sorry? She did it, not you.”

 

“But she found where I hid them,” Yuta says. “If I were better at hiding them, they’d still be safe.”

 

“It doesn’t matter. That was all stuff to remind you of me. You don’t need reminders now. You’re coming with me.”

 

Takuya laces their fingers together and leads him to his car. Ten trails behind them and climbs into the back seat.

 

“Thank you guys,” Yuta says quietly when he straps himself into his seat. Takuya starts the car and drives away, grinning as Yuta takes one last look at his house (not a home, never anything even close to a home) as it disappears from his line of sight.

 

“Ten, I don’t know where you live, and it’s way too dark for me to try and find it. You can come back to my apartment and sleep in the guest room, if you want.” Takuya glances at Ten in the rear view mirror. “And thank you for helping with all this. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

 

“Thank you for helping me do it,” Ten says. Yuta rests his arm on the console and feels Ten’s hand graze his shoulder. “I’m glad you’re okay, Yuta.”

 

“I’m good for now. Hungry as hell, but I’m good.”

 

“I’ll fix you something at home,” Takuya says.

 

“Home,” Yuta echoes, staring out the window as blurred lights pass by.

 

Home. He likes that.

 

* * *

 

Takuya’s apartment is smaller than expected. It’s cozy, though, with big blankets strewn around various rooms like they’re pocket change. It’s hard for Yuta to resist grabbing one of the throws on the couch and pulling it around his shoulders for warmth, but he doesn’t have to keep himself in check for long, because Takuya soon strides through the living room and tosses one to Yuta.

 

“I’m gonna fix dinner. The remote’s on the table, you guys can watch whatever.”

 

Yuta switches the TV to some nature documentary and collapses onto the couch, pulling the blanket lying around his shoulders onto the rest of himself. Ten sits next to him, glancing around the room like he’s looking for some kind of clue.

 

Ten shifts around uncomfortably. After a few minutes of Ten very pointedly ignoring the television, Yuta turns his head and blinks at his frown.

 

“Are you alright?” he asks, and Ten nods. His Adam’s apple bobs as he gulps.

 

“Your leg is bleeding,” Ten says, pointing to wound in question. Blood soaks through his jeans, and Yuta stills, staring at the stained fabric.

 

“So is Takuya’s,” he shrugs,  careful to lift his leg so that it won’t get blood anywhere. “I’ll be fine.”

 

“No, you fucking won’t,” Ten murmurs, pushing himself off the couch and leaning down so he’s eye-level with Yuta’s leg. “Can I pull your pant leg up?”

 

“I guess,” Yuta says. “Be quick.”

 

And then Ten hikes up the leg of his jeans, and all Yuta can see is dark blood as it drips down his leg. “Hey, Takuya,” Ten calls, “where do you keep medical stuff?”

 

“There’s a closet in the hallway with bandages and stuff in there!”

 

Ten leaves and returns with his arms full of products that likely won’t help Yuta. He tries to help anyway, rubbing peroxide across the cuts and then pressing cotton balls into them to soak up blood. He ends up just bandaging Yuta’s leg up and apologizing for not being more helpful.

 

“It’s the thought that counts,” Yuta says, grabbing Ten’s wrist and pulling him back onto the couch.

 

Ten’s head falls onto his shoulder as they wait for Takuya to finish cooking. Yuta tries his hardest to steady the rapid beating of his heart.

 

Takuya ends up making some kind of chicken dish, claiming that it didn’t take much work, but it outdoes all his mother’s cooking twenty times over. Yuta goes back for a second serving, and then a third, and Takuya swats his hand away from the tongs when he stands to go in for a fourth.

 

“You’re gonna get sick,” Takuya says, and Yuta frowns.

 

“But I’m hungry.” He rubs his stomach, but the second that his hand presses into the soft skin there, Yuta draws it back and hisses. “I think I cut myself on my stomach getting out of the door.”

 

Takuya retreats into the hallway and comes back with gauze and peroxide. He kneels and motions for Yuta to come closer.

 

“Ten, can you hold his shirt up?”

 

 _“No,”_ Yuta says quickly, face dark. “And besides, you haven’t even tried to clean _your_ leg.”

 

Takuya’s hand flies to his right leg like it’s instinct. He yanks his hand away, face twisted into an expression of pain. “Okay,” he says, voice weaker now, “you have a point.”

 

Takuya soon realizes he can’t dress wounds for shit, so Ten bandages his leg and drags Yuta into the guest room to dress the wound on his stomach.

 

“Take off your shirt,” Ten says, unwinding a roll of bandages.

 

Yuta flushes and tugs the fabric of his shirt up his stomach, revealing a few gashes that wind across his skin. His shirt is dry, crusted with blood that smells more like metal than Yuta had expected. His head turns just to avoid the scent.

 

“God, it’s worse than I expected,” Ten says, cringing at the sight of Yuta’s stomach. “Can I clean it?”

 

Yuta swallows and nods as cold hands press into the warm skin of his stomach. Ten cleans and dresses the wound, bandages it until he can’t anymore and then pats the bandage gently. “There,” he says, soft, and pulls himself up by the fabric covering the mattress. He takes a seat on the bed and pats the space next to him.

 

Yuta sits. He doesn’t have much of a choice.

 

“I’m glad you managed to get out,” Ten begins, trailing off as the air conditioner kicks on and begins to whir loudly. The force of it causes the door to click shut softly.

 

With the door closed now, there’s no light, nothing to catch in Ten’s eye and make Yuta trip over his words. He lies back and curls into the corner.

 

“Yeah. Me too.” Yuta pulls his arms behind his head and makes himself comfortable. This is the bed he’ll be sleeping in from now on, after all, and he wants a chance to get used to it before he goes to sleep.

 

Ten has other plans. He writhes around until he’s at the top of the bed, settled into the other pillow comfortably. His breathing starts to even. “It’s late. You should sleep,” he says, and Yuta hums, letting his eyes flutter shut.

 

Ten’s breathing softens until it’s drowned out by the roar of the air conditioner. Yuta thinks he’ll begin to fall asleep, too, just as a hand curls around his wrist. He tries his hardest not to jump, not to make a sound, and he succeeds.

 

“I have to tell you something,” Ten murmurs lowly in his ear. “I don’t think it can wait.”

 

Yuta’s eyes remain shut. His breathing shallows.

 

Beside him, Ten sighs, and they remain lying in the darkness, waiting for sleep to take them. It seems to come to Ten quickly, but Yuta is left staring at the pitch black ceiling and wondering if the festering feeling inside his chest is anything expressible to Ten. It is, he decides, and in the quiet of this room, surrounded by Ten and the stale air and the hotness of his breath on Yuta’s neck, he speaks.

 

“I think I’m falling,” Yuta whispers to no one but himself. The foolish side of him hopes Ten hears it. “And it’s happening too fast. I’m afraid.”

 

He pauses.

 

“Not of you. Of what you could do to me.”

 

He’s not stupid. He realizes what all this means for him, and he dreads whatever the consequence may be.

 

“I’m not ready to get hurt again,” he says. “So why do I want to…?” Yuta turns to face Ten, sees his dreaming face up close and hopes to God he’s really asleep. He begins to reach out a hand to hold the side of Ten’s cheek, but decides against it, letting his hand fall limp onto the mattress. “Whatever. I’m being dumb.”

 

If Ten hears this, _any_ of this at all, he says nothing. Yuta falls asleep just as an arm snakes around his chest and pulls him closer, a hand falling limp at the curve of his waist and drumming its fingers on the warm skin exposed by his shirt.

 

Ten’s not in bed in the morning. He’s not in the apartment, actually, and Yuta doesn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

 

“You like him,” Takuya says, watching as Yuta treads through the apartment in search of Ten. “You do, don’t you?”

 

Yuta freezes and stares at Takuya as he lounges on the couch, his glasses slid down his nose and a paperback book perched between two of his fingers.

 

“Maybe,” Yuta says, then finds that the words are so quiet that he can’t even hear them himself. He repeats them, louder, his voice cracking pathetically. “Maybe.”

 

“You should tell him,” Takuya says, and then he raises his book and pushes his glasses back up the bridge of his nose and continues to read, leaving Yuta to dwell on his own thoughts. What a great brother, Yuta thinks, and then collapses onto the couch.

 

“You want a beer?” Takuya asks, peering at him over the top of his book.

 

Yuta looks at him with furrowed eyebrows, then glances at the clock, then to Takuya once more. “It’s, like, twelve in the afternoon.”

“Is that a no?”

 

Yuta shakes his head. “If you’re offering,” he says.

 

The ice cold beer in his hand is nothing compared to the one he’d had at the cemetery. It tastes better than the other, sure, but it doesn’t make him nearly as happy as he’d been when he was with Ten.

 

Yuta realizes with dismay that Ten was more intoxicating to him than any alcohol ever was.

 

* * *

 

There aren’t any more parties he feels compelled to attend. There’s nothing for Yuta to rebel against, nothing for him to hide from, keep secrets from. It takes the edge away from everything he does, but it’s more freeing, now, to walk outside and feel the sun on his skin without worrying about the smallest mistake.

 

Takuya is surprisingly tolerant of Yuta and all his baggage. But he’s not tolerant of Yuta wearing the same thing every day without fail just because it’s the only outfit he owns. “Listen,” he says, pinching his nose, “you need to go get some clothes. There’s a department store just down the block from here.”

 

“Dunno if you noticed, but—” Yuta drops onto the couch next to Takuya. “—I don’t exactly have any money.”

 

“Take my credit card. You need something that’s not an old volunteer tee shirt and jeans.” Takuya fishes through his pocket for his wallet and tosses it to Yuta, who just barely manages to catch it. “You can even take Ten. I’ll text him and ask if he wants to help you shop.”

 

Yuta nods and opens the wallet to check for a credit card. Sure enough, the card is tucked into one of the wallet’s slots. The slot that’s meant for Takuya’s driver’s license is empty, save for the photo that Yuta had given him. He doesn’t mention it. “Today?”

 

Takuya hums his confirmation. “Ten dresses well, from what I’ve seen. He’ll be a big help.” He stretches his arms and rises from the couch. “Today would be a good day to tell him.”

 

“Shut up,” Yuta mutters, his face burning.

 

It _does_ end up being a good day to tell Ten, but Yuta quickly realizes that he could never, not when Ten’s piling clothes into his arms with a grin that tells him this has been the most exciting part of his day. His smile is wide, his eyes are bright, and his face is rosy as he hands Yuta another bundle of shirts to try on.

 

Yuta’s arms start to get tired from lifting shirts over his head only to toss them into the rejection pile, but he doesn’t say anything to hinder Ten’s happiness. “Try this one,” he says, handing Yuta a folded shirt. It’s simple and sleeveless, and he pulls it over his head in record time just because it looks nice.

 

“I like it,” Ten says, reaching out to grab the fabric and adjust it. “It looks nice on you. You could wear this to a party.”

“I thought I was done going to parties.”

 

Ten rolls his eyes and drops his hand to his side. “Nonsense. You’re going to a party tomorrow night.”

 

“Says who?”

 

“Says _me,”_ Ten grins, grabbing the sleeves of the shirt and pulling it off Yuta’s torso. He rests a hand on Yuta’s shoulder, the pads of his fingers lightly drumming on the skin there, and _damn it,_ he knows exactly what he’s doing. “Please?”

 

Yuta swallows. “Fine.”

 

Ten’s smile becomes impossibly brighter, and Yuta knows then and there that he’s in deep, that no matter how hard he tries, he’ll never be able to say no to such a pretty smile.

 

* * *

 

The party is at the _same damn place,_ and Yuta starts to think that Jung Yoonoh is some kind of serial party planner. There’s a girl planking on the staircase when Ten walks in, Yuta trailing awkwardly behind him like a lost puppy.

 

“Are you drinking tonight?” Ten asks, his grip tight on Yuta’s wrist as they navigate their way through the house.

 

“I can’t. I’m driving.”

 

Ten pulls Yuta into an empty corner of the room and grabs a drink that lies discarded on a bookcase. He gulps as much of the drink as he can, then rests a hand on his stomach as he pants. “That’s more like it,” he says, grinning crookedly up at Yuta.

 

“Your stomach won’t thank you for that,” Yuta says, rolling his eyes at the way Ten immediately snatches up another unattended drink from nearby.

 

“It’s their fault for leaving their drinks everywhere,” Ten says, nursing the new drink in his hands.

 

This was a mistake. Letting Ten drink while Yuta can’t has to be the biggest mistake he’s made in a while, but he promises to be a good babysitter, no matter how frustrating Ten may be.

 

“Hey,” Ten says, raising a hand up to Yuta’s face to caress his jaw. “Hey, look. Look at me.”

 

“You’re not _already_ drunk, are you?” Yuta asks, lips pursed.

 

“Getting there. I haven’t called you pretty in a while, have I?”

 

Yuta shakes his head and grabs Ten’s wrist, dragging the hand back down to his side.

 

“You are,” Ten says, his hands finding their way back up to Yuta’s face, eventually wrapping around his neck to pull himself closer to Yuta.

 

His breath fans Yuta’s lower lip, and the hair on the back of Yuta’s neck raises as Ten’s eyes blow wide and catch the party lights within them. Ten tilts his head, leaning closer, closer, _closer,_ until he pauses, mutters, “Can I?”

 

“Yes,” Yuta gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

 

He closes his eyes and waits, but the sensation never comes.

 

“Hey, guys!” someone says brightly, and Ten stumbles away from Yuta, panting for air as he wipes his lips.

 

“Hi, Taeyong,” Ten breathes. Yuta tries not to let his face fall.

 

“I figured out how to jump the fence around Yoonoh’s pool. I’m gonna go swim, and you guys can come if you want.”

 

Yuta nods quickly, inching closer to Taeyong and farther from Ten. “I’m game. Ten?”

 

“Yeah,” Ten nods, still breathless. His face is burning with a fierce blush that has Yuta trying to keep his laughter at bay.

 

Yuta’s stomach burns as he jumps down from Yoonoh’s backyard fence. He lands on roughconcrete that presses into his feet painfully upon impact.  

 

He strips off his shirt and pants, shivering as the cold air hits his chest and his legs.

 

For all the effort this has been worth, he expects the pool to be a soothing reward, something to ease both his pain and his mind. Instead, it’s fucking frigid. He makes the mistake of wading in without checking he temperature and sorely regrets it at the exact moment violent chills run down his spine.

 

“Taeyong, you asshole, it’s freezing!” Ten wails, flopping down in the water. He swims to Yuta, runs a hand over his bandages to make sure they’re secure and haven’t been bled through, and then huddles into Yuta’s side for warmth.

 

“It’s a _pool,”_ Taeyong says, “get over it.”

 

The trees lining Yoonoh’s yard rustle with the push and pull of the wind. Yuta startles, a hand wrapping around Ten to keep him safe. It’s an accident, but Ten leans further into his hold, and Yuta feels his face burn despite the chill of the water.

 

And then Taeyong is rushing towards them, hands poised to flick water at their faces in an all-out war. Yuta shrieks, a grin covering half his face as Ten ducks behind him for cover. A wall of water smacks Yuta’s chest, sending him sprinting forward (or as best he can in the water, really) to push a wave of water at Taeyong, who lets the water hit him before retaliating.

 

By the time their arms have tired, Yuta’s hair is sopping and plastered to his forehead. He combs his fingers through it, pulling it back and out of his eyes. Taeyong is panting as Ten looks on from the side of the pool. Yuta’s ready to take a break, to lie on his back and float wherever the water carries him.

 

“Hit him again, Yuta,” Ten urges, and any trace of exhaustion on Yuta immediately dies, replaced by drive and affection.

 

Yuta flicks some water at Taeyong, who blinks the chlorine out of his eyes and then dives into the water to skim the deep end.

 

“Are you done?” Yuta calls when Taeyong’s head bobs above the surface of the water. He’s gasping for breath, the rise and fall of his chest rippling the water around him.

 

“I’m tired,” Taeyong murmurs, letting his legs float up until he’s on his back, swaying with the water.

 

Yuta swims to Ten’s side and spreads his arms out across the concrete.  Ten’s eyes are closed, and a peaceful expression settles into his face.

 

All is well.

 

“Hey, man, get the fuck out of my pool!” someone whines from near the house, and Yuta startles, turning to get a better view. “Come on! Get out!”

 

It’s Yoonoh, face red and eyes wide. He’s standing in the doorway as the party rages behind him. He extends an arm to the fence silently, and Yuta sighs, pulling himself out of the pool and offering a hand to Ten. Taeyong swims to the side of the pool just as Ten scrambles onto the concrete and flops onto his back.

 

“Worth it,” Ten says, smiling softly. Yuta rolls his eyes and helps him up.

 

They pull their clothes on and shiver as cold water drips from their hair onto their backs. Wet and cold and entirely too tired to do anything but lie down, they jump back over the fence and make the trek to Yuta’s car. It’s actually Takuya’s, but he’s graciously lent it for the night.

 

“Are you coming?” Yuta asks as Taeyong leans against the side of the house. He climbs into the driver’s seat.

 

“I mean, I was gonna walk, but—”

 

Yuta unlocks the car and jabs a thumb towards the passenger’s seat. “Get in,” he mouths through the glass window. Ten straps himself into the back seat.

 

Taeyong slinks towards the car, guilt clear on his face as he opens the the door and takes a seat.

 

“Buckle up,” Yuta says, turning the key and backing out into the road.

 

“I’ll be fine. My house is, like, five minutes away.”

 

Yuta frowns, but says nothing. The engine rumbles, causing the car to shake beneath his seat as he cruises along the empty road. It’s too dark out for Takuya’s headlights to be so dim, but Yuta manages.

 

A car cuts in front of him as he drives. The radio hums quietly under the purr of the engine, calming Yuta as he drives. He’s hardly ever driven with anyone else in the car with him.

 

The car ahead jerks to a sudden stop, and Yuta slams his foot on the brakes, inhaling sharply as his chest slams against the restraint of the seatbelt. Ten yelps, hitting the seat in front of him. He’s fine, Yuta assures himself as he locks eyes with Ten in the rear-view mirror. He’s perfectly fine.

 

Taeyong isn’t as lucky.

 

He flies towards the dashboard, his chest slamming into it before he slumps into the space between the seat and the dashboard.

 

“Shit,” Taeyong says, pulling himself up into the seat. He rubs his chest. _“Shit,_ that hurt.”

 

Yuta eases the gas pedal as the car ahead turns onto a forked road. The road ahead is clear now, and no one seems to be driving on either side of the car. “You okay?”

 

“Yeah,” Taeyong pants. “Pull over. I wanna sit in the back.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

Taeyong nods. Yuta pulls onto the side of the road, and Ten and Taeyong switch seats. Both strap themselves into the seat this time.

 

It’s silent the remainder of the drive to Taeyong’s house. Yuta passes his old house as he pulls into Taeyong’s driveway. His mouth unintentionally twists into a frown, and Ten puts a hand on his leg. It shouldn’t be comforting, but Yuta wants to melt into the touch.

 

Taeyong retreats into his driveway with a nervous smile. He waves to Yuta, then disappears inside his house.

 

And then they’re alone.

 

Gently, Yuta eases the gas pedal down, and the car begins to creep through the neighborhood. Ten’s hand still rests splayed across his thigh.

 

It’s strange to be here at night, when doing the same thing even a month ago would’ve gotten him into so much trouble. Stranger still to pass the telephone poles, which stand adorned with various posters that hadn’t been there before. He’s tempted to ask Taeyong about them the next time they meet.

 

Yuta turns onto a curb, passing his old house. He’s back on the main road, now, and he’s nearly to Ten’s house when he passes a telephone pole with his face on it.

 

It’s a poster, his face dead in the center and his parents’ contact information scrawled below it. Above the photo, bright letters spell out, _‘HAVE YOU SEEN ME?’_

 

Yuta slams on the brakes to console his racing heart and to get a closer look at the photo. Ten begins to jerk forward, to slam against the confines of his seatbelt, but Yuta stretches an arm out and keeps him pressed safely against his seat as the car settles to a stop.

 

He knows what this means. He can’t come to this neighborhood anymore, and he can’t visit Taeyong. But it means something more, too, something that he’s not willing to look into.

 

Ten stares. The car is silent and dark.

 

“You didn’t do that for Taeyong,” he says, weak and delicate. His hands grab the arm thrown across his chest. “You didn’t put your arm out for him.”

 

Yuta swallows. “No,” he breathes, “no, I didn’t.”

 

Ten’s fingers are still curled around his arm, his nails digging into the skin there. Yuta toes the gas pedal experimentally, looking for any reaction from Ten as the car begins to roll forward again. There’s nothing. He pulls his arm back, the pads of his fingers catching between Ten’s for a few short seconds before he brings his hand back to the wheel.

 

The drive to Ten’s house is quiet. When Yuta parks in his driveway, heart still pounding, Ten leans over and murmurs something unintelligible in his ear, grazes his lips along the curve of Yuta’s cheek. “I hope I didn’t misinterpret this,” Ten says, opening the car door and stepping out. The moon shades half of his face, and he looks _so_ pretty in the light, so beautiful and ethereal and elegant.

 

Yuta wants to pull him back, to draw him into a long kiss. It takes everything in him not to.

 

“You didn’t,” he rasps, the words catching in his throat as Ten closes the car door. He clears his throat, and then, once more as Ten retreats inside, “You didn’t.”

 

His bed is cold and empty. There’s an imprint in his mattress, one that he climbs around for fear of it rising back to its original shape. This is where Ten had slept, and this is where Yuta dares to hope he’ll sleep again.

 

* * *

 

There’s a cold hand gripping his throat, and it squeezes, lets the icy tips of its fingers chill the warm skin on Yuta’s neck. Sweat drips down Yuta’s face, trailing through his hair, down the back of his neck.

 

The hand squeezes. Yuta’s lungs are void of breath, and he opens his mouth in a silent scream, begging for someone, something, _anyone_ to come and rescue him, to come and take him away from this torture. This is a dream, he tells himself as pressure builds beneath his skin, empty and hot and so incredibly terrifying. Nausea builds in his stomach.

 

Someone is shouting. Yuta’s nails rake across his throat, searching in vain for the hand that grips it. There’s nothing there, but his breath still refuses to come.

 

_“Yuta!”_

 

Two hands pull at his wrists. Yuta’s eyes become impossibly wider, and he stares at Takuya in fear, in shock.

 

He rubs at his throat. It stings to the touch, and his fingers are slick. Even in the dark, he can tell that his hands are now stained with blood.

 

Yuta sits up, his breath coming back to him in a cold burst that soothes his aching lungs. His heart pounds.

 

He bolts to the bathroom and flicks the lights on. Red lines twist down his throat like claw marks, the skin they touch raised slightly as blood trickles from them. It’s a gruesome sight, especially since he knows he did this to himself. Unwillingly.

 

He ducks his head and lets his stomach heave and groan until there’s nothing left to spill. When he finishes, he runs the faucet, cleans the sink, and stands with his arms braced on either side of the sink as he pants into the porcelain.

 

An arm rests over the hunch of his back. Yuta raises a shaking hand to clutch it in a selfish attempt to ground himself.

 

“That was one hell of a nightmare,” Yuta breathes to Takuya, raising his head to meet his own gaze in the mirror. His eyes are sunken and tired.

 

Yuta glances at his hand and turns the faucet on, watching intently as dried blood begins to cascade off his hand in orange swirls before it splashes into the sink and disappears down the drain.

 

He scrubs at his neck with his now-wet hand. It’s no use; the skin is raw and red, sensitive to Yuta’s hand and the cold air around it.

 

“You okay?”

 

Yuta shakes his head. His hair flops uselessly against the sides of his face, obstructing his vision. He turns the faucet on one last time, then cups his hands around the cool water and drinks. It tastes of metal, of the blood crusted beneath his fingernails.

 

He swallows and licks his lips. They, too, taste of blood. Slowly, deliberately, Yuta raises his head and meets Takuya’s eyes.

 

“How about now?” Takuya asks, reaching forward with a faltering hand that eventually brushes Yuta’s hair from his eyes.

 

His tongue is heavy. “Fine,” he says, neck sore and aching.

 

“Wanna go back to bed?” Takuya asks, his voice gentle.

 

Yuta doesn’t answer, but he steps through the frame of the door and holds a hand behind him for Takuya to grab. Takuya trails behind him on the path to his bed, his hand wrapped around Yuta’s wrist.

 

Takuya climbs into the bed without hesitation, Yuta not far behind him. He settles into the spot where Ten had slept, and Yuta thinks for a moment to warn him, to pull him to the other side of the bed and let him sleep there instead, but he decides against it as Takuya’s arms snake around him and pull him close. Yuta has no regrets now, only contentment settled into the crook of his chest as his eyes flutter shut and he invites sleep to take him.

 

There is no fear. Not here, not in Takuya’s arms. Here, he is safe, and nothing—no one—can touch him.

 

* * *

 

The thing about Ten that draws Yuta in is that he doesn’t _care._ If Yuta wants to go out, he doesn’t care to join him. If Yuta doesn’t want to drink, he doesn’t care. And, more importantly, if Yuta wants to kiss him, Ten doesn’t care all that much.

 

So they’re here, panting, in the middle of an empty parking lot, Yuta shaking from excitement. They’ve just spun around the vast reaches of the lot, looping around poles and swerving to avoid speed bumps. It’s exhilarating, it’s freeing, and Yuta feels _alive._

 

His head is spinning. The car hums beneath his fingers, which grip the dashboard with as much force as he can manage. His tongue, tied around his teeth, is heavy with the weight of the words he’s dying to say.

 

There’s a bottle of cream soda in the cupholder that they’ve been sharing for the past hour. Ten’s hands are tapping the steering wheel annoyingly loudly, but Yuta doesn’t say anything.

 

He pulls out of the parking lot, and since it’s only a few blocks away from Yuta’s complex, he pulls onto the side of the road and leans back in his seat. He’s waiting for Yuta to leave, but Yuta would rather stay and talk, so he reclines in his seat and waits for Ten to speak.

 

“I made it into a show,” Ten says, a hand rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s happening soon.”

 

“A show?” Yuta’s hand wraps around the neck of the soda bottle. He takes a slow drink, careful not to let any spill. He wipes the corner of his mouth.

 

Ten stares. “For art,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

 

Vaguely, Yuta remembers the first time he met Ten, quiet and reserved and committed to picking dried paint off his school uniform.

 

And then Ten speaks again, quieter this time, “I painted you.”

 

“Can I come?” Yuta asks, and it’s silent, now, as Ten turns the radio’s volume down and as they turn to face each other.

 

Ten takes Yuta’s hand in both of his, and it’s selfish, it’s greedy, the way he seems to take all of Yuta in. He doesn’t mind. “Of course.”

 

A car rolls past them. Its headlights cast stars into Ten’s eyes, and Yuta’s throat swells with some invisible heat that constricts until he can’t breathe. He’s drowning, but he can’t pull away from this hold Ten has on him, not when he’s so beautiful before him.

 

He blinks. Takes a breath. When he opens his eyes, Ten is closer, head angled just the right way for Yuta to lean in, to take Ten in his arms and kiss him, hold him, love him…

 

“Nothing’s gonna interrupt us this time,” Ten murmurs, eyes half-lidded. “Can I? Please?”

 

“You know the answer,” Yuta says back, and he feels Ten’s breath ghosting his lips, lapping gently there and drying Yuta’s bitten lips.

 

Ten leans forward, and then, slowly, lips brush against his, soft and cautious. There’s not enough pressure for it to be a real kiss, not really, but adrenaline surges through Yuta’s veins, kickstarts his heart, blurs his mind.

 

“Stupid,” Ten whispers against his lips. “God. Stupid.”

 

Yuta draws away, licking his lips, savoring what had been there just seconds ago. “How am I stupid?”

 

“Not you,” Ten shakes his head, closing his eyes. He reclines against his seat. “Both of us.”

 

The adrenaline seems to disappear. Yuta’s heart sinks. “No, tell me how I’m stupid.”

 

It’s quiet for a few seconds, Ten frozen in his seat with his eyes still closed. Then, Ten’s eyes blow wide, like he’s realized something. His back straightens, and his lips part in a way that makes Yuta want to draw him in again for a real kiss, but he can’t, not now.

 

“That wasn’t meant for you.” Ten shakes his head. “It’s not… You’re right.”

 

“I’m right about _what?”_ Yuta asks, mouth curling into a frown. “You’re not making any sense. Have you been drinking?”

 

Ten’s eyebrows furrow. “The bottle’s right there,” he says, jerking a thumb towards the soda bottle in the cupholder.

 

“That’s cream soda.”

 

“Yuta, it’s a Baileys.”

 

“It’s not a fucking Baileys, it’s—” Yuta pulls the bottle from the cupholder and reads the label. _‘BAILEYS,’_ it reads, _‘THE ORIGINAL IRISH CREAM.’_

 

Yuta’s blood runs cold. His teeth clench, and he digs a hand into his collar, fingers pressing into the scar there, itching to open it, to rip his skin open. The hand shakes with either anger or urge; he can’t tell the difference.

 

“You’ve been drinking while driving the fucking car,” Yuta deadpans, eyebrows furrowing. “What’s wrong with you?”

 

He opens the car door and stands in the frigid evening with nothing heavier than a jacket to keep him warm. Ten unbuckles his seatbelt, clambers pathetically over the console until he’s in the passenger’s seat, watching as Yuta crosses his arms.

 

They’ve done this before—drinking and driving—but not in places where they could wreck, not where Ten could get hurt. Not while still drinking. It’s different this time, but Yuta can’t quite place how.

 

“We’ve done it before. And I’ve done worse,” Ten says, staring up at him with wide eyes. “Hell, you’ve done worse—”

 

Yuta grinds his heel into the pavement. “What the hell have I done?”

 

“You should’ve left earlier,” Ten says, eyes shining. He licks his lips. “You stayed for all those years in that… In that _cult—”_

 

“I had no fucking choice, Ten!”

 

Yuta’s hand shakes, convulses with what he now knows to be rage, and he raises the bottle to strike, fights the irrational urge to chuck it at Ten.

 

But he’s not _them,_ he’s not the Reverend, and he hurls the bottle into the ground, seething as liquor splashes across the toe of his shoe, as glass explodes across the pavement. There’s a theme starting, Yuta thinks, where when something awful happens, something will break. Glass, mainly, but maybe his heart, if Ten keeps up.

 

He glances at the boy in the seat in front of him. He’s got two hands shielding his face, and his eyes are shut tight, not at all prepared for an onslaught of glass that didn’t even reach his face. Ten opens his eyes slowly, peeks out from over his hands, and stares up with wide eyes when he realizes Yuta isn’t going to hit him.

 

And then it sinks in that Yuta’s dealing with an outsider, with someone who’s never been treated like this, and he can’t bear to be Ten’s first. Not for this.

 

The Ten in front of him, the one who’s drunk and afraid, he’s not a man, nor a boy. He’s a child. Unaware.

 

Yuta toes a shard of glass near his foot. It cracks beneath his boot. “Sobered up, huh?”

 

“That’s not fair,” Ten says slowly, gulping. He looks afraid, like he thinks Yuta might still hurt him. The expression he wears is more painful than anything Yuta could inflict upon him.

 

Yuta turns and glances at his complex. It’s not that far of a walk, so he starts the trek and calls over his shoulder, “You’re right. Neither of us are being very fair right now.”

 

“Yuta!” Ten shouts.

 

Yuta keeps walking. Behind him, a car door shuts.

 

Yuta’s heart clenches at the thought of Ten looking at him the way he did. Like he’s in danger. Like Yuta’s a monster. It’s the opposite of what he wants for Ten; he wants to protect him, keep him safe from the world, shelter him from the bad that he’s already faced.

 

It’s not pleasant to think about.

 

Takuya’s asleep on the couch when he closes the door behind him. Maybe that’s for the best. Maybe he shouldn’t burden his problems on Takuya when he has other things to worry about.

 

Yuta locks the door behind him, and when he gets to his bedroom, he locks _that_ door, too. He falls back onto his bed and shuts his eyes.

 

It hurts to think about how it all started, but he subjects himself to it anyway, because he has nothing better to do than go over his mistakes again and again in the quiet of his room.

 

If Yuta put the effort into thinking about it, he’d realize that it probably started the night of the party, when Ten stared at his lips and called him pretty. Or maybe it started when they got drunk in the cemetery, or maybe even tonight, when they drove Ten’s car into a parking lot and drove recklessly for an hour before their heads spun so fast that Yuta wanted nothing more than to tell Ten what Ten has always known—that he was pretty, too, and that he can’t keep himself away from him.

 

But he doesn’t ponder it, for fear of his situation worsening. Instead, he rolls over in his bed, pulling his blanket over his head and trying not to think about the way Ten had lain here just a few days ago. It’s pathetic, he knows that much, but there’s only so much he can do.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well. that happened.
> 
> so like. there's only one part left of this to publish and i'm very emotional about it like what do i do after this i've spent two months on this and i HHHH
> 
> anyways. thank u for reading!!! i hope u enjoyed <3
> 
> stay safe drink water and remember that i love you!!!
> 
> -daniel 052919
> 
>  
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/markbfs)
> 
>  
> 
> [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/markdery)


	5. all that i am, all that i ever was

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuta learns that his love is as strong as it is new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title of this chapter is from [chasing cars](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cds3Vdlgdzs) by snow patrol. this is the last chapter, so i hope you enjoy! i promise this one's happy <3
> 
>  
> 
> [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/67MNYZDoXrjwcET3cMg4Zh)

Radio silence. For hours, then days, and then two weeks pass and the ache in Yuta’s heart dulls, and now it’s numb, now he can only feel the way it beats and not the way it clenches.

 

It’s a Tuesday morning. Takuya’s gone at work, and there’s mail at the door addressed to Yuta. He knows who it’s from, knows what it is, and he wants nothing more than to toss it out into the street.

 

Still, he takes a seat at the kitchen counter and digs his nails beneath the lining of the letter to open it. Inside is a note, and even though it’s folded, ink still bleeds through the thin paper. Gently, he fixes the crease of the note between his fingers and pulls it from the envelope.

 

This isn’t a letter from the Reverend or his parents, like he expected. The handwriting is evidence enough of that. He doesn’t recognize the handwriting, actually, and it’s frightening to read a note whose sender is anonymous.

 

_Yuta,_

 

_You’re probably not in the mood to read this. I’m sorry in advance, but I needed you to see it._

 

_This is what got me in to the show. I drew it on a smaller scale, because I wanted you to see it. The real thing is way bigger and covered in paint. I spent so long on it that I can’t even remember a time when I wasn’t working on it._

 

_I hope it does you justice, and I'm sorry for what I said and did. I was wrong for both. I’m not expecting you to forgive me, but I just want you to know that I care so much about you and that I regret what I did._

 

_The show is next week, if you still want to come. It’s at the old museum. I’ll be there all day. Maybe I can apologize in person._

 

_(I actually don’t know what I’d do if I saw you in person again. Kiss you, maybe. God knows I’ve wanted to for the longest time.)_

 

_Again, I’m sorry. I miss you._

 

_-Ten_

 

There’s a heart scribbled next to the signature. Yuta’s chest is warm, and suddenly, his heart is void of numbness. It pounds at the mention of Ten wanting to kiss him.

 

He pulls another piece of paper from the letter. It’s larger than the note, and it’s worn at the creases where it’s folded. Gingerly, he takes the edges of the paper beneath his nail and unfolds it. A sketch stares back at him, and he recognizes his own face, smudged with lead fingerprints. He looks radiant in this, better than he ever has before.

 

Yuta closes his eyes, hangs his head, and breathes.

 

There aren’t any tears in his eyes when he opens them again. They burn, yes, but he wipes them before he even gets close to crying.

 

He folds the note and the drawing and tucks them both back into the letter. He puts it where it belongs: the nightstand by his bed, to serve as a reminder of what he’s done until he can forgive himself.

 

There’s no need for Ten to still want to kiss him after Yuta scared him. But he still does, miraculously, and Yuta feels his heart swell at the thought of reconciliation.

 

* * *

 

Yuta’s totally prepared for the art show, until he’s not, because no matter what he types into the search bar on Takuya’s phone, nothing even remotely close to what he needs shows up. There are art shows, sure, but they’re miles away, weeks away, and he needs one _here_ and _now._

 

He’s given up all hope, now. He fully expects to have to show up at Ten’s doorstep without any good explanation as to why he’s there. _‘I couldn’t find anything about the show,’_ he’ll say. _‘I’m sorry I missed it.’_

 

And Ten will be upset, sure, but this is a fantasy world, so he’ll take Yuta into his arms and kiss him senseless just like Yuta’s always wanted him to.

 

Only it’s not a fantasy world, it’s just reality, and in this reality, Yuta spends his Saturday evening curled up on the couch watching a cooking competition on TV while Takuya’s nose-deep in the same book he’s been reading for weeks now. Yuta hasn’t been paying attention for the past fifteen minutes, and when he tunes back in to watch the show, his favorite contestant has been eliminated, so there’s no real point in watching anymore.

 

Takuya turns a page and hisses at what seems to be a fresh paper cut. The phone in the kitchen rings.

 

Takuya glances at him. “I’m not getting it,” he says slowly.

 

“I’m not getting it either.”

 

“I literally rescued you from cult jail. You owe me this.”

 

Yuta raises an eyebrow. “That was a moral obligation. That’s on you.”

 

They stare at each other until the phone quits ringing and the answering machine tells the caller to leave a message. Yuta blinks just as the phone beeps loudly with the message, and he turns the volume on the TV down to hear.

 

“Hi, Yuta. Or Takuya. I never know who I’ll get with this phone.”

 

Yuta tenses and fixes his gaze straight ahead. Takuya stares at the side of his head. Through the receiver,  Ten sounds nervous.

 

“Anyways, I’m calling to let you know about the art show in case my letter didn’t come in. I have things I’ve gotta say, in person, so if you could come, Yuta, that’d be great. Or, y’know, not. You don’t have to. It’s whatever, seriously, I’ll be fine if you don’t, it’s—” Ten pauses, takes a huge breath that Yuta can hear from a room away. “It’s tomorrow. Doors open at nine, and I’ll be there all day, so just… If you come, wander around and you’ll find me, alright? Bye, I lo—bye.”

 

The line clicks dead. Yuta turns the volume up and pretends to be watching TV. He’s aware that Takuya is still staring at the side of his face, but he says nothing. If he does, his voice will crack, or maybe even worse.

 

Finally, though, Takuya shifts closer to him. “Do you need a ride?”

 

Yuta blinks back tears. His face stings, and there’s pressure building in his chest. He doesn’t know what he’ll do when it becomes too much. He takes a deep breath. “Yes, please,” he tries, but it comes out as a whisper, and his voice breaks.

 

Takuya seems to hear it anyways.

 

He moves closer to Yuta and wraps his arms around him, his embrace just as warm as Yuta remembers. Suddenly, hot tears stream down the curve of his cheek, and Takuya pulls him into his chest without any resistance. His shirt is stained with Yuta’s tears, now, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

 

“Do you wanna tell me what happened?”

 

“Nothing,” Yuta finds himself saying, unable to burden Takuya with his problems yet again. “It was nothing.”

 

A hand flicks the back of his neck. Yuta sniffs.

 

“Tell me what _actually_ happened,” Takuya says. He doesn’t sound impatient or bored; he sounds like he cares. Yuta’s heart pangs in his chest.  

 

“He messed up, and I got mad at him, and…” Yuta lets his eyes shut tight again. “I scared him. He thought I was gonna hurt him, and I feel awful about it.”

 

“That’s not so bad,” Takuya murmurs. “You didn’t actually hurt him, did you?”

 

“No, but he _thought_ I would. I felt like—like I was Mom, or the Reverend.”

 

Takuya takes in a sharp breath. “Alright, that’s a little worse.”

 

“Yeah, no shit,” Yuta says, smiling bitterly. He pulls away from the hug and wipes his eyes. His skin is slick with what’s left of his tears. “I just don’t want to make him feel afraid again. _Ever_ again.”

 

“Do you…?” Takuya trails off. He doesn’t need to finish; Yuta already knows what he’s asking.

 

“Maybe.”

 

There’s nothing left to say, really. It’s dark out, and the TV casts a blue glow on Takuya’s face when Yuta unpauses it and changes the channel to a rerun of some old sitcom. Takuya closes his book and wraps an arm around him, and it’s alright. It’s okay.

 

He has a little under a day to sort himself out, but he can’t be bothered to worry about that right now. As he rests his head on Takuya’s shoulder, it shakes with laughter, and Yuta decides he’ll deal with his problems in the morning.

 

* * *

 

When the morning comes, he’s slow to rise. Takuya’s arm is still snug around him, and his back aches from the angle he’s been lying in. Light streams in through the cracks between the blinds, and they stretch across his face, warming the skin and burning red through his eyelids.

 

It takes him a few minutes to finally open his eyes. It’s too warm to want to move, and he feels untouchable, tucked into the safety of his brother’s arms like this.

 

A hand nudges his arm, and groggily, he blinks his eyes open. His vision is blurred from sleep, but as he glances around, he notices that the room is brighter than it should be at this time of day. It can’t possibly be any later than nine, but the shadows on the wall suggest otherwise.

 

Yuta glances at the clock on the wall and rubs the blurriness from his eyes. The hands read that it’s one in the afternoon, and he bolts upright and onto his feet.

 

“I’ve gotta go,” he says to Takuya, who blinks up at him from his seat on the couch.

 

Takuya stands and stretches. He’s much less frantic than Yuta is, and it’s a bit off-putting. “Go get ready, and I’ll drive you.”

 

There’s a shirt hanging up in his closet, and it’s wrinkled to hell and back, but Yuta still pulls it from its hanger and pulls it on. He realizes too late that this is the shirt Ten had bought  for him. There’s no time to change into a new one. He pulls on a pair of shoes and meets Takuya in the living room.

 

His brother is spinning a keyring around his pinky, and by the looks of it, he’s about to hit himself in the eye with it. “Let’s go,” Takuya says, pocketing his keys and starting towards the door.

 

The drive is long and tedious, and Takuya gets lost on unfamiliar roads several times before Yuta gives up and looks up the directions to the museum himself. Takuya pulls into an empty parking lot at half-past one, and Yuta’s chest is about to cave in.

 

He thanks Takuya and starts towards the mouth of the museum, up the steps and through a set of doors. Behind him, Takuya pulls out and speeds away.

 

There’s no one inside.

 

There are posters colored with splatters of paint that point him towards a corridor, so he follows them. He finds nothing.

 

Ten had told him to wander, and that he’d be there all day, but Yuta can’t imagine where he’d be if not here, where the supposed show had been. He gives up, running his hands through his hair as he turns to leave.

 

He’s about to take a step forward when he hears a sound and freezes.

 

The click of boots on hardwood floor is unmistakable. So is the rustle of fabric, and the resigned sigh of a boy too wronged to still be here.

 

Yuta follows the sounds. They lead him to the mouth of a vast room filled with pieces that have been abandoned by their artists—all but one, that is.

 

Ten’s painting is against the wall. It’s larger than Yuta expects, and Ten struggles to pull a tarp over it. Silently, Yuta treads across the room, his footsteps loudening when he’s just a breath away from Ten.

 

Ten turns. His eyes widen when he’s met with Yuta, and a smile spreads across his face. He throws his arms around Yuta’s neck and pulls himself forward.

 

“You actually came,” Ten says, voice hushed. “I didn’t think you would.”

 

“I almost didn’t find you,” Yuta says. Ten’s breath is warm on the crook of his neck.

 

“They ended the show early. One of the artists had a family emergency, but I stayed back to make sure no one’s pieces were damaged. I was about to leave, actually.”

 

“You’re the only one here?” Yuta asks, and Ten nods. “Can I see it? The painting?”

 

Ten pulls away. His eyes are watery, and the light sparkles in them. He nods, grasping the tarp in his hands and tugging it off the painting. It gives way easily, collapsing onto the floor with a gust of air that fans Yuta’s bare arms.

 

He’s still for a moment, taking in the painting, eyes wide and mouth agape. His own face stares back at him, and he has never seen himself this way, never so candid and elegant. His skin is gray, and flourishes of paint twist around his eyes, his jaw, his hands. They’re bruises, he realizes, but they’re beautiful like this—complex swirls of rose and blue and purple and white. His eyes are the deepest, richest shade of brown, and they sparkle with motes of silver and white.

 

Yuta realizes too late that this is how Ten sees him: beautiful and delicate.

 

Ten’s looking away, head turned towards a blank wall as he fidgets with the cord bracelets around his wrists. Yuta touches his hand, waits for Ten to turn to him before he wraps his hand around the arm.

 

Ten startles. He whips around to face Yuta with wide eyes, and somehow, he’s afraid again. Yuta’s heart clenches. He draws his hand back just as Ten averts his eyes.

 

“I’m sorry,” they both say at the same time. Yuta frowns.

 

“I’m sorry for scaring you. And for getting so angry.”

 

“You had every right to be angry,” Ten says. His arms are crossed, like he’s closing himself off to Yuta. “I messed up. And I’m sorry.”

“But I shouldn’t have been—”

 

“How about this,” Ten interrupts, his hands returning to the bracelets on his wrists. “How about we were both in the wrong, and we’re mature, so we’re apologizing? And everything’s okay? I don’t want you to have to explain yourself. I understand.”

 

“Do you?”

 

Ten flashes a half-smile, and he raises a hand to his own jaw, thumbing just below his lip like he’s wiping something away. He is, Yuta realizes, when he wipes a foundation-covered finger on his jeans. The skin where his thumb had just been is bruised a gray-green shade.

 

“I tried to sneak and replace the things I took from the alcohol cabinet,” Ten murmurs, his arms folding again. He’s uncomfortable, and Yuta doesn’t know how to help him. “We’re not so different, you know.”

 

He doesn’t have anything to say, so he turns to the painting and resumes gaping at it. If he _does_ speak—a foolish decision on his part—he’s afraid he’ll say something stupid.

 

Ten moves closer, until he’s pressing against Yuta’s side. “You can say something.”

 

Yuta shakes his head.

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because if I do, then I’ll want to kiss you,” Yuta says, and it’s bold, it’s too bold, and he was right, this is so damn stupid of him. Coming to apologize and immediately falling back into his rhythm with Ten, it’s idiotic, and he’s doomed to dance around him again for what’ll feel like an eternity.

 

Or maybe not, because there’s a hand on his neck and another on his jaw, drawing him closer until he’s flush against a warm chest, and there are big brown eyes that sparkle in the light as they stare up at him, and a kilowatt smile, bright and blinding as Yuta tries his hardest not to stare, not to lean in, not to kiss the smile away.

 

“Then do it,” Ten says, his eyes shining and his voice laced with a grin.

 

And maybe it’s time to indulge himself, Yuta realizes, so he leans forward and captures that same smile in a kiss, and he decides then that this isn’t wrong, this could never be wrong, not when it feels so perfect and right. Ten’s mouth is warm and sweet and he tastes like peaches, like summer, and Yuta wants to drown in this feeling.

 

Ten’s hand threads in his hair. Yuta takes it as an opportunity to deepen the kiss, to tilt his head to the side as Ten’s hand cups the curve of his jaw. His fingers are warm, and Yuta melts as he realizes that these are the fingertips around which Ten has spun him, and now he’s trapped, too caught up in all of his love and infatuation to even dare to pull away.

 

And suddenly, it’s not Yuta who pulls away, but _Ten,_ and he fists the collar of Yuta’s shirt in a hand as he pants. Yuta is weak to his whim.

 

“Well?” Yuta asks, desperate for more. His lips are swollen, he’s sure, and they seem to ache as he holds himself back from Ten.

 

“You’re wearing the shirt I got you for that party,” Ten says, his eyebrows furrowed with a kind of fond affection that Yuta isn’t used to.

 

“Speaking of,” Yuta says, drawing back from Ten’s hold. “When’s the next one?”

 

“The next party?” Ten asks. He shakes his head. “No, I’m done with that.”

 

“What? Why?”

 

“I only started frequenting parties because I figured it was my only chance to see you. Same with drinking. I’m done.” Ten rolls his shoulders and shrugs. “I’ll do all that when I’m legal. I have time. Besides...” he says, and then murmurs something that’s inaudible to Yuta.

 

Yuta hums and gestures for him to repeat himself. Ten’s face goes pink in the span of a second.

 

“Besides, it’s not like all that makes me as happy as you do.”

 

It’s offhanded, and Ten sounds embarrassed to say it, but Yuta feels something well up in the cleft of his heart and _knows._ It’s not embarrassing, really; nothing Ten could say could ever be embarrassing. And here, right here, in the center of an empty room in front of a painting of himself that’s more beautiful than anyone else could possibly see him, he realizes that he’s in love, and that what he has here can’t even compare to the fling that started all of this.

 

And since he’s in love, since he _knows,_ now, he does what any sensible person would do: he tightens his fingers around Ten’s jaw and pulls him forward, kisses him again, and again, and again. And this is happiness, he thinks. This is joy, and contentment, and every other thing he could ever associate with being in love.

 

He murmurs the words against Ten’s lips. He’s not sure if they’re audible, but what matters is that he’s said them. They’re out in the open, now, and Ten can do whatever he’d like with them.

 

Ten draws back. His eyes crinkle as he smiles, and his words sound like music, like the most beautiful hymn Yuta will ever hear. “Say it again.”

“I love you,” Yuta says, because he does, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever stop.

 

Ten kisses him. Once, and then twice, and then again. Each one makes his heart beat faster than the last, and if Ten hasn’t noticed the thud of his heart against his chest by now, he probably never will. “I love you, too.”

 

And there is nothing better than this, he decides, nothing more freeing, nothing more _right_ than the way he feels in Ten’s arms, weak to the tide of his lips as they come and go, draw back and press forward.

 

But then the tide recedes for good, and there’s no surge forward from Ten to soothe his burning lips, not anymore. Ten is staring up at him with wide eyes, a hand settled uselessly on Yuta’s chest, and Yuta _knows_ he’s going to ask for something. Moreover, Yuta knows he won’t be able to say no.

 

“Do you wanna go?”

 

“Go where?”

 

Ten drops his voice to a murmur. “Somewhere where there aren’t cameras,” he says, glancing at the corner of the room, where a security camera hangs from the ceiling.

 

It’s instant for Yuta. He’s nodding, hands fumbling to grab Ten’s as he retreats into a corridor. He leads Yuta down the winding hall until they stop in front of a metal door. Ten opens it, and blindly, he steps forward, not taking in his surroundings.

 

It’s an emergency exit, and he stumbles off a concrete step. His arms flail out in front of him to brace himself, but Yuta reacts, his arms wrapping around Ten from behind and pulling him back. “Careful, he says, his hand splayed across Ten’s chest. His fingertips ghost over Ten’s heart on accident, and he can feel just how powerfully it beats beneath his hand. He knows now that he’s not the only one that’s nervous, and it’s comforting to know that Ten is just as flustered as he is right now.

 

Ten scurries down the remaining stairs, and Yuta trails behind him until there’s no more door left to hold open. It swings shut loudly, and Ten faces Yuta, finds purchase in the collar of his shirt. “My car’s parked close. I can take you home after this.”

 

“After what?” Yuta asks, since he second-guesses everything that Ten implies. And then Ten cranes up to meet his lips, to swallow anything he might say, and it’s just as good as every other time. Yuta tries to speak, but all that comes out is a strangled, _“Oh.”_

 

Ten guides him in his steps, and he toes backwards until his back presses against a brick wall. This is familiar, too familiar, but he wants it like this, wants to be held steady by Ten as that same fire from months ago burns furiously in his stomach. Ten tongues along his bottom lip, prying it open, and he tilts his jaw in a way that tells Yuta he has done this far too many times for him to be new to it. He’d like to be the only one Ten does this to from now on.

 

It’s not a big thing at all when he says it, when he pulls away from Ten’s kiss to rest their foreheads against each other. Ten is panting when he says it, and so is Yuta; the words come out quickly and breathily. “Boyfriends?” he asks, the fire starting up in his stomach again, white-hot, and Ten reels away to grin, his smile blinding as his eyes crinkle up.

 

“I’d like that,” he says, and he tries to lean in to kiss Yuta again, but they’re both smiling so hard now that it’s near impossible. He manages a peck on the cheek and snakes his arms around Yuta’s neck, burying his face in the junction between Yuta’s shoulder and throat.

 

“Boyfriends,” Ten murmurs into his skin, like he doesn’t believe it. “God. I love it. I love you.”

 

Yuta quells his smile and kisses Ten one more time. “I love you, too.”

 

They have a lot of things to make up for: _‘I love yous’_ and kisses, laced hands and late-night food runs and trips to the lake. They might as well start now.

 

“Can we go somewhere?” Ten asks, pulling away. His face is pink, and when Yuta runs a thumb along his cheek, he finds that it’s warm beneath his skin. “Like, right now?”

 

“Where?”

 

“I don’t know, I just don’t want to take you back home so soon.”

 

And he agrees, because he doesn’t want to let Ten leave him so soon. That’s how they end up parked in a Wendy’s drive-thru, sharing fries straight from the bag and telling stories. The air is cool, and the sky is pink, and in front of Yuta is the most beautiful view he has ever seen. (The sky is pretty, too.)

 

When the sun sets, Ten grumbles that he has to bring Yuta back to provent Takuya from calling the police. “He’s threatened it,” Ten whines when he’s met with laughter. “I’m serious!”

The sky is just barely starting to dim when Ten pulls into the parking lot of Yuta’s complex. Distantly, an ambulance blares its sirens, and they ring in his ears as he opens the car door and begins to step out.

 

Ten makes a noise like he’s been wounded and grabs Yuta by the wrist, jerking him back into the car. He falls onto the leather with a soft noise of surprise as the cushion sinks below him. He blinks up at Ten with wide, questioning eyes, and Ten points to the road in front of them.

 

A car speeds down the road, and two police cars give chase to it. The sirens grow louder as the car flies past them, and for a brief second, Ten’s face is illuminated by red and blue. The car swerves onto another street that’s out of view, and the policemen follow after it. The scream of sirens fades.

 

“What d’you think that was for?” Ten asks, eyes wide as he stares at the corner where the car had just been.

 

“Not sure. I hope it was something cool.”

 

Yuta turns to face Ten once again, and a smile spreads across his face as he realizes that Ten is finally his to keep.

 

“What are you smiling for,” Ten says, grinning back at him. “God, shut up, you’re making me do it, too.”

 

“I haven’t said anything,” Yuta reminds him.

 

“You just did.”

 

 _“Anyways,”_ Yuta says loudly, leaning across the console to press a long, slow kiss onto Ten’s lips. He revels in the taste of salt and faint peaches, and though it’s a strange combination, he finds that it’s one he likes.

 

He pulls away and licks his lips. “I’ll call you?”

 

“Yeah,” Ten beams. He sounds as breathless as Yuta feels. “Bye.”

 

Takuya doesn’t ask him what happened when he shuts the door behind him. Actually, he doesn’t have to, because all it takes is an elated hum of, “You will never fucking _believe_ what happened today,” and he’s awe-stricken, his jaw nearly on the floor as he reclines in his chair and presses a hand to his heart in the most dramatic fashion.

 

(As it turns out, he doesn’t mind gossiping about Yuta’s love life. In fact, he enjoys it, and Yuta realizes that if there’s ever anyone to bother, it will always be his brother.)

 

* * *

 

It’s October, now, and the leaves fall quickly as Yuta’s birthday approaches. It’s D-day, now, and it’s a perfect medium outside—not too hot, not too cold—so the windows are wide open. Yuta’s lounging in the living room, humming along to whatever song Takuya’s listening to on the radio. His brother is attempting to bake a cake in the kitchen, going against multiple warnings and pleads from Yuta.

 

But there’s no sign of smoke, at least not now, so Yuta figures Takuya has everything under control.

 

There’s a present on the coffee table in front of the TV, wrapped up in aluminum baking foil and topped off with a bow carefully made out of notebook paper. He’s yearning to open it, but he knows he should wait until everyone is here.

 

 _Everyone_ is a loose term, really. It’s Takuya, Ten, and Yuta, but three is a crowd that’s more than enough for Yuta.

 

“Cake’s done!” Takuya calls, and something chocolatey and warm wafts through the air. It carries to Yuta, who’s up and in the kitchen before Takuya can say another word.

 

“Can we eat it now?” he asks, glancing hungrily down at the cake in the pan.

 

“Whenever Ten gets—” Takuya stops talking just as three loud raps sound at the door. “Never mind. Go let him in.”

 

Ten’s smiling behind the door, and when Yuta leans in to kiss his cheek, he pushes him away. “I brought a friend,” he says, gesturing behind him, where Yuta hadn’t even noticed someone was standing.

 

“Taeyong?” Yuta asks, eyebrows raised. “But I thought—”

 

“Song was arrested.” Taeyong cards a hand through his hair with a smile. “It’s over.”

 

“No shit,” Yuta says, a grin growing on his face.

 

Ten grabs his wrist and pushes him inside, gesturing to things around the living room to introduce to Taeyong as they step through the apartment. When they reach the kitchen, Takuya looks Taeyong up and down and curls his lips.

 

“I know you from somewhere,” Takuya says, his eyebrows furrowed, and Yuta figures he’ll spare him from thinking too hard.

 

“This is Taeyong. We’ve gone to the movie theater a couple of times while you were there.”

 

Takuya’s eyes brighten. “Yes! Him, got it. I figured it out.”

 

“I told you, though,” Yuta reminds him, earning a swat to his arm from his loving brother. “It’s my birthday, don’t be mean.”

 

“I baked you a cake and got you lavish gifts. I’ve done my part,” Takuya says, a smug smile settle onto his lips. He grabs a package of candles and rips them open. “Speaking of…”

 

He doesn’t mind fire, not really, but it doesn’t exactly make him comfortable anymore, so as soon as Takuya lights the candles, they’re out. He doesn’t think to wish for anything. Maybe it’s because he has everything that he wants right here with him.

 

“Presents?” Takuya asks, and Yuta’s eyes go wide.

 

“You are _not_ making me wait to eat that damn cake—” Ten begins, but Takuya claps a hand over his mouth and follows Yuta dutifully into the living room.

 

The box is heavier than he’d expected. It’s small enough to fit snugly in his lap, and Yuta tugs at the makeshift wrapping paper earnestly as he waits for permission to open it.

 

“Go ahead,” Takuya says, and Yuta beams, ripping the foil off the box and unfolding the cardboard.

 

Inside is a small box that’s no bigger than his hand. He pulls it out and immediately drops it back into the box, his hands flying up to cover his mouth as he stares at Takuya with wide eyes.

 

“Really?”

 

“Really,” Takuya says, mouth curled into a proud smile. “Ten helped me pay for it.”

 

 _“Thank you,”_ Yuta breathes, eyes wide as he reaches back into the box and pulls out his very own phone. It’s still in the box, in the _plastic,_ even, and it’s perfect.

 

“Don’t rack up my bill, though. I’ll help you set it up later.” Takuya gestures to the box. “There’s more. Look inside.”

 

Yuta furrows his eyebrows, setting the box on the empty cushion to his left. Ten looms over his shoulder, and Yuta half-heartedly pushes him back into his seat. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

 

“Look inside,” Takuya repeats, and Yuta frowns, reaching inside the box one more time. Something slips between his fingers, and he pulls it out with ease.

 

It’s a piece of paper. He unfolds it to find an online receipt that’s been printed out. It’s for two hotel rooms.

 

“What’s this?” Yuta asks.

 

“Read closer.”

 

And so he does, and he nearly drops the paper at what he finds. Yuta wipes his eyes. “Cape Verona,” he says, his voice weak and hoarse. “We’re going to Cape Verona?”

 

Ten’s arm is around him in an instant. He melts into the touch.

 

“I figured it’s time to rewrite some of our bad memories,” Takuya says, hands settling on his knees as he pushes himself onto his feet. “We’re going during Christmas. Me, you, and Ten.”

 

Ten laughs at Yuta’s shell-shocked expression and pulls him onto his feet, leading him back towards the kitchen as Taeyong and Takuya trail behind them. “Cake time,” he says, a devilish grin on his face as he raids the drawers for a knife to cut the cake with.

 

“Happy birthday,” Takuya says warmly as Ten distributes cake onto plates. When he’s finished, he scoops icing off Yuta’s piece with his finger and smears it along Yuta’s nose. Ten grins, leaning in to kiss his cheek quickly before dashing away.

 

“Oh, fuck you!” Yuta calls, wiping the icing off his nose and chasing Ten around the couch with an icing-smeared hand. In the kitchen, Takuya and Taeyong are in hysterics.

 

And here, eyes trained on Ten’s smile as he runs for his life, Yuta realizes that this is the family he has always dreamed of, and no one—not even Song with all his might—can take that away from him.

 

* * *

 

For December, the air is much hotter than it should be. It comes down in suffocating waves that wobble with the glare of the sun, and Yuta has too much fun swatting his hands through it just to make it ripple in his vision.

 

Ten is beside him, lounging on a beach chair with an ice cream cone in his hand. It’s melting all over his fingers, but he doesn’t seem to mind. The concrete beneath Yuta’s feet is scalding, and he pulls them up onto his chair to keep them from being burned raw.

 

The smell of chlorine is pungent, but Yuta doesn’t mind it at all. It seems to go in hand with the blinding color of the pool water before him, the turquoise-blue color that doesn’t seem safe _or_ real. He wants with all his heart to jump in and swim, but he commits himself to waiting until Ten finishes his ice cream cone. Yuta’s own cone has already been devoured, and the wrapper lies discarded next to the pool for him to throw away when he goes back inside.

 

This is a perfect summer day, even if the calendar is nearing the end of winter.

 

“You can get in, you know,” Ten says, eyebrows peeking up over his sunglasses. “You don’t have to wait on me.”

 

“I wanna,” Yuta says, so Ten stands, discarding his sunglasses and dropping his ice cream into a nearby trash can.

 

“So go,” Ten says, and then he sprints towards the pool and jumps in. Water spritzes Yuta’s face, and he grins, vaulting off the chair and into the water.

 

Immediately, coolness swallows him whole. Yuta relaxes into the feeling and surfaces, wiping his hair out of his face as he does. He presses himself into the wall of the pool and waits for Ten to come to him.

 

The smell of chlorine is even stronger when Ten approaches him, hooking one leg around Yuta’s to keep himself from floating away.

 

“Hey,” Ten says, his voice as smooth as he can make it, and Yuta nearly laughs at how pathetic the attempt is. Instead, he smiles and repeats the greeting.

 

“God, c’mere, you look so dumb with your hair like that,” Ten says, eyes bright as he reaches up and cards his hands through Yuta’s hair, parting it for him. “There. That’s a little better.” He runs a hand through his own hair and steadies himself on the side of the pool. “You owe me now.”

 

“What do I owe?”

 

“This,” Ten says, and he leans in, capturing Yuta’s lips in a kiss. His lips are cold and wet and Yuta doesn’t have the nerve to deepen the kiss, not when they’re in water this deep, so he secures his arms around Ten and swims to the shallow end of the pool with Ten lying bridal-style in his arms.

 

“Better?” Ten asks, wiggling out of Yuta’s hold so he can stand on steady feet.

 

“Better.”

 

“Good.” And he’s back at it again, his arms around Yuta as he backs him into the wall of the pool, his lips burning kisses anywhere they can reach and his hands threaded in Yuta’s hair. His breath fans Yuta’s mouth, hot and humid, and his eyes bore into Yuta’s whenever he pulls away for air. The sun is unrelenting as it beats down on them, but the water is cooling, and so is the gentle press of Ten’s lips.

 

Yuta’s back arches against the wall as Ten grazes cool along his neck, then pulls away. His joints ache. He’s sure that the concrete has scraped the skin of his back to hell by now, but he’s not in much of a position to care.

 

“Your back is bleeding,” Ten says, eyebrows furrowed as he drops one last kiss onto Yuta’s shoulder before pulling him away from the wall. He draws water into his hands and pours it along Yuta’s back. The chlorine burns, but the reminder that Ten cares, that he’s trying to keep Yuta from hurting—it overwhelms any pain that he could ever feel.

 

Mind over matter, he thinks.

 

“You okay?” Ten asks, staring up at Yuta with softened eyes. He licks his lips. The water plasters his hair to his head, and Yuta finds the age-old need to run his hands through it bubbling back up again in his chest for what must be the hundredth time.

 

Somewhere in the middle of his monologue, Yuta realizes that Ten is still staring at him, waiting patiently for an answer.

 

“Yeah, of course,” he breathes, bracing his arms on the wall of the pool as he backs into it and hoists himself onto the edge of the concrete. The heat burns his thighs, but he’s less likely to be scraped this way, so he ignores the sensation.

 

His legs dangle in the water, and he kicks them like he’s a child again. Yuta nods his head, inviting Ten to hurry and kiss him, and he immediately springs into action, wrapping himself up in Yuta’s arms and craning his neck to kiss him. Yuta’s arms are secure around his waist, and he promises himself that he won’t ever let Ten fall.

 

Yuta laughs into the kiss at Ten’s eagerness. He draws back, but Ten chases him, circling his arms around Yuta’s neck and leaning up even further to kiss him.

 

“Wait,” Yuta pants before Ten can tilt his head for more access. The words come out as a mumble against Ten’s lips, but they pull him away quickly enough.

 

Yuta untangles Ten from his hold and pushes him away gently, then stretches out an arm to cup the jaw of the boy standing in front of him. Ten stares up at him, chest heaving, his hair dripping tracks of water down his chest. Yuta grins, and Ten grins back, soft and bashful and not at all reminiscent of his behavior from just a few seconds ago.

 

“What?” Ten laughs, shy as he tries to move his face from Yuta’s grip. Yuta only pulls him closer.

 

“Can you two break it up?” someone says suddenly, and Yuta turns his head to see his brother, shirtless in all his glory as he approaches the pool with a pair of sunglasses settled atop his head. He cannonballs into the deep end of the pool, earning a laugh from Ten as Yuta rolls his eyes and returns to his moment. If Takuya wants him to quit, he can stop them himself.

 

He turns back to Ten. Distantly, Takuya emerges from the water, but Yuta doesn’t pay him any mind.

 

“You’re so pretty,” Yuta says, his smile soft as he kisses Ten once, then twice, and again. “Do you know that?”

 

The clouds race past in the sky, and the sun emerges, blocking Yuta’s vision. He can’t see anymore, but he’d like to imagine that Ten is blushing now, his face pink with embarrassment. He doesn’t enjoy attention.

 

He leans in one more time and laughs. He hasn’t always been one to give Ten attention, either.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...so. the end.
> 
> thank you so much for reading this. it was cathartic to write in a way that i've never experienced before, and after i finished it, i honestly didn't know what to do with myself. i've spent so much time creating lore and background and analyses for this fic that it's so strange that i don't have to do it anymore. i enjoyed writing this fic. i loved it so much, and i hope you love it as much as i do. thank you for reading. <3
> 
> stay safe, drink water, and remember that i love you! if you're still in the mood for a fic by me i write [dreamie fics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnil/works) on this account, n if that's not your taste then i also wrote a [dojae fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16367345) that's honestly the pinnacle of my writing
> 
> thank you so much for reading!!
> 
> -daniel 060119
> 
>  
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/markbfs)
> 
>  
> 
> [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/markdery)


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